We Found Wonderland
by secretreciPIE
Summary: Hermione Granger has always been exceptional. When the war with Voldemort is finally over, it has taken everything from her. Including her ability to die properly, it seems. And now she's in the 1940s, living in an orphanage. What could possibly go wrong? Only time will tell.
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I MAKE NO MONEY FROM THIS. SADLY.

Hermione Granger stood, wand clenched in her bloodied, dirtied hands, gazing down at the unmoving form of her friends. Ron, eyes glassy and unfocused, hit by Dolohov's Killing Curse. Fred, taken down by Rookwood. George, who'd avenged his twin and fell at Voldemort's own hand. She dragged her had over her eyes viciously. Tears would not help her now. Remus, Tonks, McGonnagall, the list stretched on. It was just her and Harry left now. Numbly, she shuffled over to where he sat, Ginny's still warm corpse cradled in his arms. "Why, Hermione," he asked, his voice impossible steady despite the tears she could see streaking down his face. He turned his brilliant green eyes, burning emeralds so full of pain, to her face. She could only shake her head helplessly. Gently, as if she was only asleep, Harry lowered the girl he had loved to the floor and placed a kiss on her forehead. He smoothed her hair, and got to his feet. "I'm done Hermione," and now his voice cracked. "I'm just done. I want it to be over." She reached her arms out and stepped into them, and they stood like that for a long while, silent tears streaking down their faces. "I know Harry, me too." Unbidden, memories rose before her eyes—her parents, as she'd Obliviated them, their blank faces as they waved goodbye. She would never see them again. They'd died in a "freak plane accident" as they'd left for Australia. Gone. She remembered Ron, his huge smile after she'd told him she loved him. Gone. Ginny, her red hair whipping around her as she taught Hermione to fly, laughing, breath misting in the cold. Gone. Everything was gone.

Finally, the two broken teenagers stepped away from each other. "Together?" she asked Harry. "Together." He replied, a sad smile curving the side of his mouth. Hand in hand, they stepped over the bodies of the dead, Death Eater and friends, all united in death. Together, they made their way out of the castle, into the forest to meet Lord Voldemort, so that they too could join the rest.

It was not hard to find him. He stood waiting, pale hands folded lovingly over the knobbly wand Hermione recognized as Dumbledore's. The Elder Wand, the Deathstick. Around Lord Voldemort stood five or six Death Eaters, all that remained of the force he had amassed to attack the mighty fortress of Hogwarts. He did not seem to mind that his forces had been thus depleted. After all, Hermione thought, he could always find more. "Potter," Voldemort hissed quietly, ignoring Hermione at Harry's side. "The Boy Who Lived…. Come to die?"

"I suppose so," Harry said quietly. Voldemort's red eyed gleamed in triumph. "Then I must oblige you," he inclined his head, fingering his wand gently before raising it, pointing it at Harry. Harry lifted his own, his replacement wand, stolen from Draco Malfoy, and leveled it at Voldemort. The black robed followers gathered quietly around them in a loose circle. She read desperation on their faces as well and realized they were not the skilled, experienced, devoted inner circle she had initially assumed they were, but merely wizards who had chosen the side they thought would win. They too, wanted everything to be over. "No one left to hide behind, Potter," Voldemort gloated. "No," Harry agreed mildly. Voldemort seemed annoyed at being unable to rile Harry. "And now you shall go to join them," He hissed smoothly. "Yes," Harry said calmly, staring blandly into Voldemort's face. Voldemort snarled. "_Crucio_!" He shrieked, wand aimed not at Harry, but at Hermione.

She didn't fight the scream that rose to her lips, but the pain no longer affected her as it once had. She was far too familiar with it for it to be effective anymore. Harry stood, unmoved. "Is that it?" he asked Voldemort. "Weren't you going to kill me?" he taunted. Voldemort tilted his head, and for a moment, confusion flashed across his face. "Are you truly so eager to die?" He asked, curiously. "There's nothing left for me, is there, Tom? Nothing left for either of us," he said, looking down at Hermione, a small smile quirking his lips. Hermione had fallen when she'd been struck by Voldemort's curse, but she got back to her feet, taking the hand Harry offered her. They stood side by side, facing the Dark Lord.

"Very well then," Voldemort said quietly. "_Avada Kedavra!_" "_Expelliarmus_!" Harry intoned. The two beams of light raced towards each other, collided, and Voldemort was dead. Harry looked at the Elder Wand in his hand and pointed it at himself. He met Hermione's eyes, which, for the first time since leaving the Great Hall, displayed fear. "I'm sorry 'Mione. But there really isn't anything left for me." Hermione raised her wand, but she knew she would be too late. "Avada Kedavra" "EXPELLIARMUS!" In a bizarre parody of previous events, the two spells once again collided.

But even as the Elder Wand was ripped out of Harry's hand, the green light of the Killing Curse had left its tip, had hit Harry, wrenching his hand from hers, and now Hermione was alone. Numbly, she stared down at Harry. She understood. She would join him soon. But not just yet. Lifting her head, she saw that the Death Eaters had fled. Good. She didn't think she could've fought them. She picked up the Elder Wand. Next to it, she saw a dark stone on the forest ground, marked with the sign of the Hallows, and slipped both into her pocket. She flicked her own wand at Harry, levitating him. She would lay him to rest next to Ginny and the others in the Great Hall. Then she would speak to Dumbledore's portrait, explain what had happened so that the rest of the world would know, and _then_, then she too could be free.

Gently, she lay Harry next to Ginny. She placed their hands together. As she straightened up, she saw the familiar silver fabric of the third Hallow in Harry's pocket. Without knowing why, she picked it up. She would ask Dumbledore what to do with it, she decided as she made her way to the Headmaster's office. As she entered, there was no noise. No applause. She was glad. There was nothing to celebrate. It had been a pyrrhic victory. She ignored the other portraits and moved to stand in front of Dumbledore. His eyes were full of sadness as he looked down at her.

"It's done." She said, the words dead in her mouth. "After Harry found out he was a Horcrux, he went into the forest. He died. Voldemort brought him back to gloat. Neville killed Nagini. Harry tried to duel Voldemort but he commanded his Death Eaters to destroy us all, sealed us in the Great Hall and left after telling Harry to find him in the same place after the death eaters killed all he held dear. So we did. Harry killed him. Then he killed himself. He's in the Great Hall, next to Ginny." She turned to leave. Dumbledore called her back. "Ms Granger, I am truly sorry for what you have lost." She saw tears running down his painted cheeks. "So am I." She said dryly. "But Ms. Granger, don't forget, there is always something to live for," Dumbledore continued. "Not this time." Hermione had forgotten about the Hallows. She just wanted to join her friends. She wanted to see Ron again. She wanted to see Harry. Pointing the Elder Wand at herself, she enunciated carefully, "Avada Kedavra". The world seemed to stop. All she could see was the green light coming toward her. Then it hit her, and Hermione Granger vanished in a blaze of light.

Hermione realized several things at the same time. Firstly, that she was thinking. Second, she felt great. Third, that she was laying down. These things led to the realization that she was self aware, and that she had a body. Blinking, Hermione opened eyes she hadn't realized were closed. She lay in a white mist, but as she thought about it, the white mist consolidated into a Library, a place she'd always found comfort and safety in. She wasn't quite sure which Library though. It looked a bit like the Hogwarts library, but also like her father's private library, and also like the public library she'd often visited with her mother as a child. Looking down, Hermione realized she was wearing only a cloak. The invisibility cloak. She frowned, realizing that she'd forgotten to tell Dumbledore about the Hallows. She dismissed the thought. It was no longer important. She did wish she had clothes though. As she thought this, a neat pile of clothing appeared on a nearby table. She walked over and pulled them on. She noticed, as she put her arm through the sleeve of the warm, clean shirt she'd found, that she was also wearing the Resurrection Stone, set into a gold ring. When she looked at her other hand, she realized she'd been clutching the Elder Wand as well. All three Hallows.

As she came to this realization, she heard a soft cough from behind her. She turned, not sure what to expect. "Harry?" she gasped. He smiled at her, and she flung herself into his arms. They stood like that for what could have been seconds or hours or days or _years_ but it was never long enough. Finally, she broke away from him. "How- What's—Where—" she said, utterly confused. Harry grinned at her, completely carefree. "Of course you'd bring us to a library," he teased. "Always the bookworm." "Is this real?" Hermione asked, voice shaking. Harry nodded. "Where are we?" Hermione asked. "I mean, where's this library?" "It's kind of hard to explain. Basically, Luna's dad was right. Whoever unites the Hallows becomes Master of Death. What that means is that you can't really die. If you do, instead of getting punted on to the afterlife like most people do, you come here. I came here when Voldemort tried to kill me—maybe it was the Hallows, but for me, Dumbledore thinks Voldemort tied me to life. Either way, you're not dead, if that's what you were wondering. But you're not exactly alive either. You're in between. Kind of like a sort of limbo, I reckon." Harry explained. "That's right," another, unfamiliar voice turned. Hermione whipped around, wand raised, but Harry seemed unconcerned. "Hermione, allow me to introduce… Death."

Death stood calmly in front of Hermione. Death looked exactly like Ronald Weasley, but his voice was different. She couldn't explain it. It wasn't a human voice. It was old and young, terrifying and comforting, cold and warm all at the same time. Maybe it was the multiple shocks that she'd already been through, but Hermione did not bat an eyelash. "Why does Death look like Ron?" she asked Harry, quite calmly. "I thought this form would comfort you. I could also choose to look like this," Death turned into a towering figure with a scythe, then a small, innocent child Hermione recognized as a friend of hers from kindergarten, and then into Hermione herself. "It does not matter, Mistress." Hermione shivered. "I don't particularly want to be your Mistress," she said uncomfortably. "I just wanted to die." Death nodded. "I know. That is why you are my Mistress." "What? But I just said—" "Only a select few can unite the Hallows, Hermione," Harry interrupted. "And to truly Master them, you can't be afraid of death. You can't want to be the Master of Death. But once you are… you're kind of stuck with it I think."

"What does that even mean?" Hermione demanded. "Whatever you desire, Mistress. I cannot, even though I believe you do not desire it, send you back to whence you came. Death is death, even for you. But I can send you on to a different time, one where you could make a difference. You could save him," Death inclined it's head to Harry. "You could save your entire world. Of course, it wouldn't be your world exactly. Parallel. Like I said, death is death, even for you. You could visit those you've lost. You just can't move on completely." Death said, sounding rather bored. "I want to see Ron," Hermione said at once. Harry shifted, uncomfortable. "Er… Hermione, the thing is, the… Afterlife, I guess you could call it… Well I better explain it first. Basically unless you do something really bad, you get a good afterlife. And everyone gets their own. It's like your own bubble of perfection. And you can visit and share the bubbles of your loved ones. It's kind of like being alive and living out a fantasy life honestly. And well, Ron…" he hesitated. Hermione's eyes narrowed in confusion. Death snorted impatiently. In a flash, the three of them stood outside the Burrow.

Harry looked flustered. "Look Hermione, just remember, it's been a while. I know it's only been a few minutes for you since everything happened, but here time doesn't work the same. Ginny and I are… well married, and—" Hermione hugged him. "Oh Congratulations Harry!" she cried, joy shining in her eyes. Harry smiled back at her, letting out a long sigh. "Try not to judge him too harshly," he said quietly to Hermione, as he opened the door to the Burrow. "Hermione?" A red blur, darted towards her. It was Ginny, young and beautiful "Al? James? Lily? Come over here and meet Aunt Hermione," she called. Hermione observed with wide eyes, as three children skidded around the table. "Hi Aunt Hermione! Mum, we're going to play quidditch with Grampa James and Sirius!" They chorused, as they raced past her out of the house. Ginny smiled fondly at them. Harry slung an arm around her, kissing her lightly on the top of her head. Just then, Ron's familiar voice called out from behind them, "Ginny? Did mum finish making that pie yet? I'm starving—" Hermione turned and saw Ron descending the staircase. He saw her and froze. "Hermione?" he croaked.

Hermione ran towards him, and he opened his arms as she leapt into them. "Ron," she cried, burying her face in his shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent. "Ron, I love you," she whispered. "I never told you, but I love you… I'm so glad I found you again." Ron shifted guiltily. "Hermione there's something I have to tell you," He said, pushing her away slightly, examining her face nervously. Hermione cocked her head in confusion. "I—that is to say—er, well," Ron stammered nervously, eyes darting around the room which was now empty, save for Death, who was leaning back in a chair. Ron didn't seem to be able to see Death, however, as his eyes skated over her. "He's together with that girl from school," Death said, boredly. "The one named after a flower. Not Pansy… Tulip? No, that was her mother… Lavender. That's it." Death snapped its fingers. Hermione felt as if something had reached into her chest, seized her heart and twisted. Hard.

"You're with Lavender?" She said, marveling at how controlled her voice was. Ron stared at her in shock. "How did you know—did Harry tell you—" Hermione could feel tears in her eyes. "You don't deny it then," she said softly, feeling rage in the pit of her stomach. "You said you loved me. You said you were going to _marry_ me!" She yelled, furious. "I do love you—" "Save it, Ronald," Hermione snarled. "It's been a long time for me—" "Well it _bloody well_ hasn't been a long time for _me_!" Hermione screeched. "And anyway I don't see Ginny with Dean Thomas, do you? She waited for Harry! Why didn't you wait for me Ron? I _loved_ you!" Ron raised his hands helplessly. "I'm sorry Hermione- I just- I love you, please, but be reasonable, 'Mione! You can't honestly have thought we would've worked out as a couple! Come one, just put it behind you—" Hermione stared at him, incredulous. "You utter _prat_ Ronald Weasley! If you weren't already dead, I'd KILL you!" She snarled, the betrayal bitter and painful. "I can't look at you." She said quietly, turning on her heel and leaving him behind. Death followed her, smirking. Harry stood waiting outside. "Leave me alone," she snapped. Harry ignored her, gathering her into his arms and looking at her with sad eyes. "I'm sorry Hermione." And for the first time in what felt like forever, Hermione Granger cried.

She didn't know how long she stood there crying into Harry's shoulder. But she did know that she didn't want to stay here. Wherever here was. "Who's afterlife is this anyway, " she asked weakly, wiping her nose. "Molly and Arthur Weasley's," Death replied at once. "And that's another thing," she said. "Why is it only Harry and I can see you?" she frowned. It was Harry who answered this time. "Because I was Master of Death, and now, you are. It also means you and I can travel into any Afterlife we want. Came in handy trying to find my parents. I'll have to introduce you sometime. You'll love them. And little Holly Potter." He smiled at her. Hermione shook her head. "Maybe not just right now, Harry, I don't really like the.. Afterlife… at the moment." She said wryly. Harry inclined his head in understanding. Hermione shifted her gaze to Death. "You said you could put me in a parallel world. What do you mean by that?" Death shrugged. "I'm sure you've heard of parallel universes. I'd just slip you into one. Death exists everywhere, so as Master of Death, you can go anywhere. Just not back to the world you came from. If you die, that world is closed to you. Sorry." Hermione shrugged. "Not like I have anything to go back to anyway. If I let you send me there, would I still be able to come here? And visit?" she asked. Death shook his head. "This place is for the dead, Mistress. You have no world to belong to, which is why you can come here, but once back in the living world, you cannot return until you're killed again. That's what the stone is for—so you can summon those you want to see to you." Hermione nodded. "I think you should do it," Harry told her honestly. "You don't belong here Hermione. Go, live your life. Come back when you're old and gray. We'll all be here waiting for you." Hermione sniffled. "Okay." She turned to Death. "But first, I want to see my parents." Death clicked its fingers and Harry and the Burrow vanished, replaced by the familiar interior of Hermione's old home. "Mum? Dad?" A young couple who were reading on a nearby couch, looked up. "Mum! Dad!" Hermione ran towards them and gathered them into a tight embrace. "I've missed you so much."

After what seemed like forever, but was not long enough, Hermione left her old home. She found herself again in the library she'd arrived in. Harry was waiting for her with Death, who had changed from Hermione's form into that of a young boy. Death reached out and flicked its fingers. The Hallows flew into them, pulsing with an eerie silver light. Death pressed its fingers to Hermione's wrist, and a brand appeared there, in the shape of the sign of the Hallows, while the Hallows themselves vanished. "You may not have the Hallows in this world, but with this, you may draw upon their powers. Simply imagine yourself using the Hallows, and their powers will be yours to wield. When you enter this world, you will be mortal once again. When you die, you will return here. You will again receive the choice to stay in the Afterlife, or move to another world. I am sending you to a world that will progress in almost an identical fashion as your own. However, with your help, all the pain and suffering that has befallen you can be avoided. Prepare yourself, for I will send you on shortly." Death said. Hermione turned to Harry. "Take care of yourself alright? And Ginny. And your kids. And the rest. Tell them I'll see them soon. I'll see you soon." She rambled, not quite sure how to say goodbye so soon. Harry smiled warmly at her. "Of course. You better call me often. I'll be waiting for you." With one last hug, Hermione stepped away and took the hand Death had outstretched. "Bye Hermione," Harry said. And Hermione Granger vanished.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the woman whispered as she left the baby on the doorstep of the orphanage. She turned and hurried into the night, tears rolling down her cheeks. She died two weeks later of severe pneumonia. The baby on the other hand, took its last breath moments after the woman had left it behind. The cold December air seemed to fill with… something as the baby's chest stopped moving. Then, all of a sudden, the tiny heart began beating again, and Hermione Granger opened her mouth and _screamed_.


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: Still not JK Rowling...

2 Years Old

Hermione walked confidently over to the matron. "Excuse me, could I please have some water?" She said. The woman's face went white. Toddlers do not speak like this, she thought to herself. There is something wrong with this child. She must be kept away from the other children.

4 Years Old

The room was plain. A single cupboard with six shelves—one for each girl, and six beds. There was only one girl in the room though, reading a large book. She had curly brown hair, brown eyes and pale skin. Hermione sighed. The other children did not like her very much. She had mad a grave mistake in revealing her intelligence so early on. She supposed she made them nervous. Hermione idly wondered how they'd react when she got her Hogwarts letter. She twisted a brown curl around her finger and examined it. She didn't look exactly the same as she had before. She could see her old face staring back at her, but the shape of her hands and feet, the long slender fingers, the soft curls instead of an untameable mane—she supposed she had Death to thank for those.

6 Years Old

Hermione was bored out of her mind. She sat in class, and leaned her chair back so that only two legs rested on the ground. They were taking a "test". She'd finished the whole thing in about five minutes. What a waste of time. She could have been in the library, reading. She could've gone to Diagon Alley again. She smiled fondly as she recalled her first foray into the wizarding world. It'd been a year ago, when she'd been particularly bored and lonely. She'd suddenly realized there was nothing stopping her from visiting the wizarding world. She'd already called up Harry, Ginny and her parents several times. She could use the wand to help direct her magic, and the invisibility cloak to conceal her. Closing her eyes, she had imagined pulling the cloak over herself. She'd cracked open an eyelid and seen that it had worked. Then she'd turned on the spot, and apparated right in front of the Leaky Cauldron. She had gone into the back, unnoticed, and tapped the appropriate brick with her finger, sending magic into it. She'd stepped through into Diagon Alley and looked around in wonder. It had been maybe the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen. She'd stood there, taking it in, for several minutes before heading to the first bookstore she could find. Unfortunately, Hermione did not have a lot of money… Her chair fell back onto all four legs as she had an epiphany. _INVESTMENT!_ She screamed mentally. As soon as this class was over, she'd go to London and open a bank account. Would they let her open a bank account? She scowled. She'd ask the matron.

8 Years Old

Hermione sat alone in the bathroom, a purple potion in a small flask in front of her. Taking a deep breath, she chugged it and immediately fell into unconsciousness. She was in what seemed to be the Forbidden Forest. As she walked, she heard a rustle behind her, and a Thestral emerged to accompany her. On its back rode a young boy whom she recognized at once. "Death?" she asked. He scowled. "I do have a name you know," he said, petulant. "Really?" "No, but you could give me one. It's getting very tiresome just being called _Death_ all the time. So morbid. Can I be Theo?" He asked. Hermione wasn't quite sure if he was being serious. "What are you doing in my Animagus dream?" she asked. "Dunno. Got bored. Oh look, there it is!" A large form seemed to be hurtling towards Hermione from the sky. She ducked as it wheeled past her head and came to settle on her shoulder, snapping its beak. Death looked at it for a moment. "Very fitting." The eagle owl hooted softly. "You should be waking up soon, see ya around, Mistress."

Hermione jerked back into consciousness. She groaned, and rubbed her head. She had a pounding headache. Stupid potion. She gathered up her cauldron—he very expensive cauldron that she'd managed to purchase after a tip from Hermione's grandfather had led to a good investment. She was very glad she'd figured out how to make money. For a while, she'd seriously considered stealing the books and materials she needed to learn magic. _Focus_, Hermione snapped at herself. She slid the cauldron under her bed. She now only shared her room with one other girl, named Mabel Schaffler. Mabel, like the other children, did not want to speak with her or spend time with her, which suited Hermione just fine. She did not need anyone else. Hermione massaged her temples, and began her chemistry homework. At least she'd finally gotten placed in an appropriately challenging class. She now attended high school, and was still at the top of her class.

Ten Years Old

Hermione sighed. She'd hoped to be in college by now, but unfortunately, it seemed as though she'd miscalculated the amount of time necessary. As she filed out of the hall, graduation cap in hand, she felt her heart quicken with anticipation at entering Hogwarts. One more year, she thought to herself. So close. She should begin reading up on wizarding etiquette. And perhaps she should begin replacing the worn clothes in her closet with more tasteful outfits. She wanted to make a good impression. _I wonder if Dumbledore will come to give me my letter? _She wondered idly.

Eleven Years Old

"Good morning Ms. Hastings. My name is Albus Dumbledore. I would like to speak to you about one of the children I believe you have in your care. A Ms. Hermione Granger?" Hermione had been sitting with her back to the railings of the staircase when she heard the familiar voice. She immediately froze and strained her ears to here more. "Hermione? Yes of course, come in." Ms Hastings opened the door to the orphanage and invited Dumbledore in. "My office is right this way, Mr. Dumbledore," she said. "Excellent." Hermione returned to her room. She no longer shared it with other children. She surveyed it with a gimlet eye, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Over the past year, she'd gotten rid of almost all her magical possessions in anticipation of this meeting. The only things in the battered closet were her newly purchased clothing items and her muggle school supplies. She rubbed her wrist absently. The brand of the Deathly Hallows had faded into a silvery scar. She hoped Dumbledore wouldn't notice, but if he asked, she would tell him the truth as the rest of the orphanage knew it—that she'd had it for as long as she could remember. She changed out of the orphanage uniform and into a plain white blouse, red plaid skirt and black knee socks.

"I must warn you, Hermione is not quite…. Normal. I don't know how to explain it. Ever since she was a child, there's been something off about her. She was a very odd baby. Never cried. And one day she just got up and began walking and talking. I didn't know what to make of it. The other children avoid her, mainly. She's extremely intelligent—first year in the local college already—but there's just something not right about her, Mr. Dumblrdore. I hope you know what you're doing sir. That's her room, right there." The hushed voice came closer. Hermione knew that Ms Hastings had not meant for her to hear, but she could not have known that Hermione's eagle owl form had led to her developing exceptional hearing. Hermione made sure she looked neat and presentable, tying off her braids again, and seated herself on the bed, cross legged, and waited to meet Albus Dumbledore for the first time in this world.

The door swung open and Ms Hastings peered in, dislike clear in her eyes. "Hermione, there's a man here to see you. Something about a scholarship to a school. Mr Dumbledore-" she gestured for him to enter, and turned on her heel. Hermione waited for Dumbledore to come it, and her jaw dropped. Dumbledore was a red head! She could barely contain the giggle that threatened to escape her lips. She must be very careful not to reveal herself as having more knowledge than she should.

Dumbledore walked towards her bed, hand outstretched. "Good morning Ms. Granger. My name is Professor Dumbledore, and I'm here to invite you to join my school." Hermione rose gracefully and shook his hand firmly. "It's a pleasure. May I ask which school you represent? I am unaware of applying for any scholarships." She said, politely. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "No, I suppose you would be. You see, Ms Granger, I teach at a very special school, for very special people."

Hermione inclined her head. "What kind of special school?" She asked. _I really have become quite a superb actor,_ she thought to herself dryly. She could imagine Harry laughing. "I teach at a school of magic." Dumbledore said. Hermione nodded. "Alright, show me." Dumbledore smiled down at her. "What would you like to see?" Hermione smirked. _I wonder if he could turn Ms. Hastings into a mouse,_ she mused. "I don't believe that Ms. Hastings would appreciate that very much," Dumbledore said sternly, frowning down at her.

Hermione realized she had spoken out loud, and mentally swore. Dumbledore gazed down at her, then waved his wand. Hermione's closet caught fire. She started. "My things are in there," she said, shocked. But she needn't have worried. With another flick of his wand, the fire died down. She calmly turned back to Dumbledore. "I would like to accept my place at your school, sir," she said respectfully.

"Excellent," Dumbledore said. His eyes were not twinkling as much as they usually did. "There are a number of things you will need. There will be no need to worry about the money, Hogwarts has a fund for students without resources, and other that maybe purchasing a few of your books secondhand, you should be fine. He handed Hermione her school list and a bag of galleons. "That won't be necessary, sir. I have my own money," she declined politely. "indeed?" Dumbledore asked, curiously. Hermione nodded. "I was not aware that Ms Hastings provided allowance," he asked probingly. "It's my money sir," Hermione said.

Dumbledore seemed to accept this as he continued. "The place to buy your magical supplies is called Diagon Alley, here in London. I can accompany you there today, if you find that agreeable." Hermione beamed up at him. "I would like that very much, sir." "Excellent!" said Dumbledore. "Ms Granger, I must ask, you are very unsurprised by all this. Why?" Hermione shrugged. "I've always known I was different. I can do things the other children can't. Finding out it's magic makes sense to me." Dumbledore peered at her searchingly, before nodding. "Very well Ms. Granger. I shall speak to Ms. Hastings about a quick shopping trip. I have one more student to visit today. Would you like to accompany me, or wait for me here?" Hermione's curiosity was piqued. "I'd like to go with you, sir," She said. "In that case, I shall speak to Ms. Hastings immediately." He left the room, Hermione trailing after him.

"Professor Dumbledore? Where are we going?" Hermione asked, as they left Winding's Orphanage behind. "Wool's Orphanage, on the other side of London," Dumbledore replied genially. "There is another potential student that lives there. It will be an excellent opportunity for you two to connect before school starts on the first of September." Hermione nodded, wondering who the other student would be as she clambered into a buggy.

Hermione had not expected Wool's Orphanage to look very different from her own, and she was not disappointed. It was a gray building, very non-descript, and quite ugly. She followed Dumbledore up the steps, and knocked once. After a moment or two, the door was opened by a scruffy girl wearing an apron. "Good afternoon, I have an appointment with Mrs. Cole. I believe she's the matron here?" Dumbledore asked. "Oh, um… jus' a mo', MRS. COLE," she called. She turned back to Dumbledore. "Come in, she's on her way." Dumbledore looked down at Hermione. "I shall find you shortly, Ms. Granger," and Hermione recognized herself being temporarily dismissed, as a skinny woman came bustling towards them.

Hermione decided to explore the orphanage. She wandered aimlessly, following the helpers and children. "Who are you then?" a girl asked suspiciously. "I'm here with a teacher. Apparently someone here's won a scholarship. You wouldn't happen to know anyone like that would you? They might make strange things happen sometimes or—" At this, the girl's face twisted in fear. "Oh, you're like _him_. You'll be looking for Tom, I suppose? First door on the second floor." And the girl abruptly turned and hurried away from her.

Hermione blinked, staring after her. She hadn't offended the girl had she? Shrugging, she climbed the stone steps, turned off the second landing, and faced the door. She raised her hand and knocked. "Hello?" she called. The door opened, and Hermione's breath caught in her chest. Tom Marvolo Riddle stood, scowling down at her, a book in his hand. He was very tall for an eleven year old. "What do you want?" he said. "To meet you of course, there's no need to be rude," Hermione said, recovering from her shock. _Lord Voldemort. This will become Lord Voldemort. _She thought to herself, disbelievingly. She hadn't expected to meet him so soon. _He hasn't done anything yet, Hermione. Be nice. _

"May I come in?" she asked. "No." He said. "What do you want? Who are you anyway?" Hermione's fingers twitched to her scarred wrist. "I'm Hermione Granger. You're about to get invited to go to my school. Professor Dumbledore's just speaking with Mrs. Cole now." Tom's frown deepened. "What sort of school?" He snapped. "_Tell me!"_ he commanded, forcefully. Now it was Hermione's turn to frown. "You're not very polite, are you? He'll be up in a minute, don't worry, and we can get supplies together. What's your name by the way?"

Tom ignored her. He was gazing at her in surprise, obviously unused to resistance to his magically enhanced commands. "Honestly," Hermione huffed. "That might work on Muggles, but it certainly won't work on me. Or Professor Dumbledore." "What are Muggles?" Tom asked, brown eyes narrowing. "Ordinary people, of course. Not like us. Non magic people." Tom looked at her appraisingly and indicated that she should come inside. The room was very plain, similar to her own. There was a single bed, a cupboard, and a desk with a chair. "Tell me," he said. This time it was not a command. Hermione smiled. _Voldemort! _She had to stop Tom Riddle from turning into Lord Voldemort. In the years of her childhood, she had thought about how to do so very often. She had come to the realization that murder was not the best option. Not only because she didn't think she could kill a child, but also because she didn't feel like spending her life in Azkaban thank you very much. As a result, she'd decided to befriend Riddle, and try to steer him away from darkness. It didn't look like he would make it easy on her. "Haven't you always known you were different? Special?" She asked him, as she settled on the bed.

"Yes," he breathed. "Always. I can do things other children can't. I can make animals do what I want without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt, if I want to." "Do you want to?" Hermione asked. "Sometimes." Tom shrugged. "So can I," Hermione said. "Prove it," Tom said, standing over her. Hermione twitched her fingers. She didn't even need to channel her magic through the Hallow scar. She'd gotten quite proficient in wandless magic over the last ten years. Birds appeared from midair, and she made them chase each other around the room. Tom stared at them, eyes glinting oddly. "Teach me how you did that," He demanded. "Only if you ask nicely," Hermione shot back. Tom glowered at her, then his face changed into a sickly sweet expression. "Would you please teach me how you did that, Hermione?" he said, so politely, Hermione was amazed. "Stop that," she snapped. "Put your real face back on." Tom dropped the act, amused. "It's easy, just… want it hard enough I guess," Hermione lied.

"For example," she levitated the chair. Tom stared hungrily at her. "And you learned this at a school?" He asked, eagerly. "No, but I'm going to learn magic at a school. So are you. That's Professor Dumbledore now, I think," she cocked her head. "He'll explain everything much better. And then you should come to Diagon Alley with me and I'll show you where you can get spell books and things." Tom stared at her. "You'll come with me? I don't need you. I go around London all the time by myself. I like to do things alone." Hermione shrugged. "I didn't say you needed me. But you should. We can get to know each other better, since we'll be in the same year anyway, and you can show me your magic."

At that moment, Mrs. Cole announced Dumbledore, who strode in. "Ah, Ms. Granger. I see you have found Mr. Riddle. Mr Riddle, allow me to introduce myself, I am Professor Dumbledore. I'm hear to tell you about Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Has Ms. Granger told you anything about magic?" He eyed the conjured birds. Tom nodded, shaking Dumbledore's hand. "I'm going of course." He announced. Dumbledore nodded, and briefly explained the wizarding world, just as he had done to Hermione. Tom at one point demanded a demonstration. Hermione groaned inwardly, as she saw Dumbledore's eyes narrow momentarily, and he set Riddle's cabinet on fire. Riddle howled in rage, but like Hermione's it was undamaged. However, a rattling sound now came from the cabinet. "Is there anything in there that you shouldn't have, Mr. Riddle?" Dumbledore asked, sternly looking down his nose at Tom. Tom opened the cabinet and took out a small box of assorted items. "I'd advise you to return these items to their proper owners. Thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts, Tom." Dumbledore reprimanded. Tom nodded, his faux polite mask firmly in place. Hermione watched with bated breath as Dumbledore announced the trip to Diagon Alley. "I can show you where to get everything," he said. Tom glanced at Hermione, before nodding tersely. "Excellent!" cried Dumbledore. "We shall leave at once. Ms. Granger, am I correct in assuming your funds are non-magical?" She nodded. "Then first, we shall stop at Gringotts bank. If you two would kindly follow me, we shall be there quite soon."

Once again, Hermione followed Dumbledore into a horse drawn buggy. This time, Tom sat beside her. "I can speak to snakes," he said suddenly, as the buggy started moving. "Is that normal?" Dumbledore considered Tom Riddle carefully. "It is not unheard of," he hedged. Tom nodded. "I've always wanted a pet snake," Hermione sighed. "Can I get one, sir?" Dumbledore smiled genially at her. "Unfotunately, Hogwarts usually only permits toads, cats or owls as pets. I believe there was once a student who brought a dog, but it upset a lot of cat owners, and she had to leave it at home." Hermione pouted. Ron had had a rat… she thought to herself. Her relationship with Ron had returned to normal after a while, though Ron now teased her mercilessly for becoming a child.

"I believe we have arrived," Dumbledore announced some ten minutes later. He paid the buggy driver, and Tom and Hermione stepped out in front of the Leaky Cauldron. "In here," Dumbledore ushered, and the two orphans followed obediently. Tom's eyes were wide as he stared around the pub. "Wait till Diagon Alley," Hermione whispered into his ear. "It's absolutely stunning." Tom glanced coldly at her. "We aren't friends," he said abruptly. "I don't need friends." Hermione rolled her eyes. "That doesn't mean they aren't good to have, Tom." She snapped. Tom glared at her. "I don't _want_ friends." He ground out, as they followed Dumbledore out into the back of the tavern. "Too bad," Hermione hissed back. She felt Tom's magic shift and something shoved her, hard, towards the floor. Flinging out her own hands, she stopped herself from falling flat on her face with a cushioning charm. Dumbledore, hearing the commotion, turned around. "Something wrong?" He asked mildly, eyes sharp. "Nothing professor," Hermione growled, glaring at Tom as she righted herself. "I tripped." Tom sneered at her, and she sneered back. When Dumbledore's back was turned, she wiggled her fingers and hit Tom with a mild stinging hex, sticking her tongue out for good measure. His scowl darkened and he turned away, getting his first look at Diagon Alley. "Sir, I think I'll be fine now," Tom said, in his overly polite tone. "I like doing things by myself. I don't need you," Dumbledore looked slightly startled as Tom headed into Diagon Alley along. "I'll go with him, Professor. He's being very rude," Hermione grumbled. "I know my way back to Windings, don't worry. Thank you very much for the letter, sir." And shaking Dumbledore's hand, she followed Tom Riddle into Diagon Alley.

"Why are you following me?" Tom demanded coldly, after he had looked back and seen Hermione tailing him. "Because I want to," she said stubbornly. "Go away." He demanded. "You're very rude, you know." "Good. Maybe it'll make you leave me alone." He snapped, continuing to stride down Diagon Alley, his sharp brown eyes taking in every detail greedily. "You just passed Flourish and Blott's by the way," Hermione said. "That's where the spell books are." Tom didn't answer. "Oh don't try to ignore me, that's so dull." Hermione complained. "You don't even know where you're going." Tom glared at her, but said nothing. "Come on, Riddle. Play nice. Where do you go to school, anyway? What's your favorite class? Mine's chemistry. I think it's a lot like potions isn't it? You realize I'm just going to keep talking until you stop ignoring me right?" Hermione pestered. "Oooh! Look! Owls!" she seized Tom's wrist and attempted to drag him into the Emporium, but he wrenched his hand out of hers with surprising strength. "Don't touch me," he spat. Hermione had enough. "Look, I'm the one who told you about all this in the first place. I don't know why you decided to come along if you were planning on being this rude and awful the whole time. Stop acting like a spoilt child!" She snarled.

Tom glared at her, eyes full of fury. "I don't know why I came with you either," He hissed back. "I wish I hadn't. I thought you'd be more useful. But as I already told you, I prefer being alone. I don't need you around. I don't want you around. So leave me be." He turned on his heel and stalked off. Hermione watched him go, frustration evident in her eyes. Ignoring him, she turned around and entered the emporium. It was cool and dry inside, and smelt like a normal muggle pet store.

She breathed deeply, inhaling the comforting scent. She'd always liked the smell of animals. "Hello human," came a strange, throaty voice from above her. Startled, she looked up to see a screech owl perched in a cage. "Stupid human," the voice said again, as the owl opened its beak. _Impossible._ She thought. Was she speaking to the owl? Perhaps this was a side effect of the Animagus transformation. After all, Sirius and Crookshanks had managed to communicate somewhat effectively, and they hadn't even been the same time of animal. "I resent that." She said. "Maybe not so stupid after all," the owl said, staring down at her. Hermione sniffed, and looked around. She saw a witch sitting behind a counter, reading the Daily Prophet, and headed over. "Er…. Excuse me Madam, but I was wondering if you had any cats for sale? Or kneazles?" The witch squinted up at her. "In the back. Just had a litter of kittens, kneazle mother, cat father. Those will cost extra." Hermione nodded, and headed towards the cat section.

She left the shop several galleons lighter. She was glad that Dumbledore had left, as the money she kept in her wallet was actually mostly wizarding currency, and that might have required some explaining that she didn't want to do. In her left hand, she carried a cat carrier with a small, dark grey kitten in it. She also carried a bag of supplies in the right hand. The next stop for her was Flourish and Blotts, where she purchased all her school books, and then some. After that, she headed to Madam Malkins and got fitted for a full set of robes. Hermione found her arms getting quite tired now, and when she was sure no one was looking, she waved her hand over her things and shrank them.

Stuffing her bags into her pocket, she now only had to carry her new cat, who was sleeping soundly. She then bought the rest of the things on her list, as well as a few extra odds and ends that she thought she might need, before heading over to Ollivander's. As soon as she stepped inside, she heard a high pitched noise that seemed to emanate from somewhere in the shop. Ollivander appeared almost immediately, a box in his hand. "Well, well," he said, eyeing her curiously, "you are a very easy customer. Vine, dragon heartstring, 10¾ inches. A very strong reaction. This wand knows it wants to belong to you."* Hermione gently picked the wand up, unsurprised. She had expected as much. Something similar had happened the first time she'd visited Ollivander in her own world. "That will be seven Galleons, Ms…?" Ollivander trailed off. "Granger. Hermione Granger." Hermione introduced herself, producing seven galleons. "Thank you very much, ." Turning, she saw Tom walk into the shop. "I'll see you around, Riddle," she said mildly. He inclined his head, his previous anger at her replaced by cool indifference.

Hermione left Ollivander's and ambled down the street. It was still early. They had left Wool's Orphanage at noon, and it was only three or four in the afternoon. She glanced down and all her things and, slipped into a back alleyway. She rubbed the scar on her wrist as she called upon the power of the invisibility cloak, and apparated back to Windings.

She landed in her room with a soft pop and unpacked her belongings. She had invested in a nonstandard trunk, without any pre-existing enchantments, and set about adjusting it to her needs. The year she had spent hunting Horcruxes with Harry had taught her never to carry things too large to hide, so she began by shrinking the trunk until it was only slightly larger than her own palm. She then began layering protective charms and jinxes over the trunk, warding it against being stolen by other students. She then added an undetectable extension charm, and began packing her books, clothes and other items into the trunk. She did not have much to pack. She needed to play the role of first-year muggleborn orphan, after all.

*Pottermore: Vine wands seem strongly attracted by personalities with hidden depths, and Garrick Ollivander himself has found them more sensitive than any other when it comes to instantly detecting a prospective match. Reliable sources claim that these wands can emit magical effects upon the mere entrance into their room of a suitable owner, and this has been noted to have occurred twice within Ollivanders Wand Shop.


	3. Chapter 3

"How are things with you two?" "Brilliant!" Ron said happily. "We've just started first year at Hogwarts! Harry and I are both on the quidditch team—youngest players in a century! And we just won loads of points off Professor Flitwick." Hermione smiled, as her friends began to tell her about their most recent afterlife experiences. "When I get to Hogwarts, I can keep you with me, you know," she said. "It'd be like old times. Except I'd be a Slytherin," she said, smirking at Ron. He rolled his eyes and feigned disgust. "As long as you don't start snogging You-Know-Who, I'll be fine, 'Mione." He said. Hermione laughed at the image, and Ron and Harry faded away.

A furry head bumped against her hand. "Hey Crookshanks," she cooed at the little gray kitten. She'd decided to name it in honor of her first cat. Had Ms. Hastings known that Hermione had the cat, she would have thrown a fit and tossed Crookshanks out onto the street immediately. "Animals do not belong in a house," she had told Mabel Schaffler when she'd wanted to keep a puppy she'd found abandoned in an alleyway. But Hermione's discreet use of a notice-me-not charm on a corner of the room, and the care she took to make sure her cat never wandered out into the corridor had prevented Ms. Hastings from finding out about it. Hermione sighed. Her studies at the local college were going well, but she was looking forward to dropping them and going to Hogwarts, where she could begin to make a real difference.

The first of September came fairly quickly. Hermione had awoken that morning with excitement churning in her belly. _Hogwarts,_ she thought to herself, as she dressed carefully. Her trunk was secure in her pocket, and Crookshanks, who had grown to twice his original weight and length, lay purring on her bed. Hermione looked around the room. It was empty of all her possessions. Looking into the cracked mirror in the corner, she straightened her skirt, braided her hair carefully, and carried Crookshanks downstairs. She put him down outside the door of the orphanage, told him to wait for her, and walked back to Ms. Hastings' office. The office door was slightly ajar, so she pushed it open. "Ms. Hastings?" The matron was bent over some paperwork, and upon hearing her name, she glared at her least favorite charge. "I'm leaving. I won't be back till next summer." Ms Hastings nodded once, a curt dismissal, and turned back to her paperwork. Hermione stifled a sigh. There truly was no love lost between them, was there?

Making her way out of Winding's Orphanage, she stooped to gather up her cat, and called a buggy to take her to King's Cross Station. She could easily have apparated, but there was a certain longing to enter Kings Cross the same ways she had when she had first been 11. "That's interdimensional time travel for you, I suppose," she muttered to herself, as she tried to figure out if that had been years ago, or if it hadn't even happened yet. "I suppose it is," a musical voice said from beside her. Hermione didn't jump. "Death." She acknowledged, tilting her head. Death had now taken the form of Fleur Delacour. "Mistress," she acknowledged. "What are you doing here?" Hermione asked, curious. Death raised her eyebrows. "Can't lowly little Death come to see you off to school?" Death said, the corners of Fleur's lips quirking upwards. Hermione laughed. "Alright, I was just going to warn you that there's going to be death filled unrest in Sudetenland coming up. Stay safe, Mistress." Death winked, and disappeared. Hermione sighed. World War 2. Of course. She supposed she could always apparate into Berlin and try to kill Hitler. "Well I was just coming back from a gay gypsy bar mitzvah for the disabled, when I thought, gosh the third Reich's a bit rubbish isn't it—I think I'll kill the Fuhrer." She muttered to herself. "Probably not a good idea, is it." Her fingers twitched toward her wand. She could save so many lives… She rubbed the familiar scar on her wrist. "Death?" She called. "What?" Death said, appearing next to her again. "I was in the middle of something important." She said, sniffing. "What would happen if I stopped World War 2?" Hermione asked idly. Death froze. "You really don't want to do that, Mistress. Hitler's rise to power is somewhat of a fixed point in time. Interfering with it is within your power, but the impacts would be catastrophic. World War 2 is a very significant part of human history that led to significant advances in international communication. If you were to try and stop it, I could not stand against you, Mistress, but I must warn you that it is ill-advised." Death said quietly. Hermione gulped, and nodded. "So don't kill Hitler, huh?" She asked, weakly. "That would be advisable," Death agreed. "If there is nothing more you require from me, Mistress, I must return to my duties. You should also prepare for your departure from this transportation device as I believe you have nearly reached your destination." Hermione nodded, and Death vanished once again. True to Death's word, the buggy stopped moments later. "King's Cross Station, Miss." The driver said. Hermione thanked him and made her way into the train station. It was very different from how she remembered it. The trains were all steam powered locomotives for one. Hermione quietly made her way through the throngs of people to the familiar space between platforms 9 and 10. Checking her watch, she noted absently that it was already a quarter to eleven. The buggy trip had lasted longer than she had anticipated. Lazily, she leaned against the barrier between the Muggle world and the Wizarding one, and fell through into platform 9¾. The Hogwarts Express looked exactly the same. All around her, children thronged around their parents. Hermione watched wistfully. She missed her mother and father, even though she saw them often. She rubbed her wrist absently, and a moment later, she felt them shifting behind her. "Off to school again, eh?" Her father said, smiling down at her. Hermione nodded, turning to face them. "Stay safe, dear." Her mother said, reaching out to stroke her cheek. Hermione smiled slightly. "I will, mama." She promised. "I love you." She said, looking at her parents. "We love you too, Hermione," they replied. She rubbed her wrist again, and they vanished. Crookshanks, who winding his way around her ankles, butted his head against her leg gently. She reached down and scooped him up. "Ready for Hogwarts?" She cooed. Crookshanks purred back at her, and together, they climbed aboard the Hogwarts Express.

The train was full of students, as always. Hermione walked past several compartments of older students before finding one with a group of younger looking children who she felt were probably first years. "Are you lot first years as well, then?" She asked from the doorway. "Yup! You?" Replied a boy who bore a striking resemblance to Ron. "Yes. May I join you in your compartment?" she asked. "Of course!" said a blonde girl sitting next to him. Hermione gracefully seated herself opposite the blonde girl, and set Crookshanks down. "You don't mind, do you?" She said, gesturing at the cat. "His name is Crookshanks and he's very well behaved." The last person in the compartment was a boy with dark brown hair sticking up in all directions. "Not at all," he said cheerfully. "What's your name?" He asked. "I'm Hermione Granger," she replied, sticking out her hand. "I'm Drew Davies," he said, shaking it. "And this is Septimus Weasley and Selene Summers." "Pleasure," she said, inclining her head to the rest of the compartment. "What houses do you want do be in?" She asked. "Gryffindor. My whole family's been in Gryffindor," Septimus said. "I want to be in Gryffindor too," Drew agreed. "My parents don't really care—my mum was in Ravenclaw, and my dad was in Gryffindor, so as long as I'm not in Slytherin, I think they'll be happy." "How about you, Selene?" Hermione asked. "Oh, I don't know," she said dreamily, gazing out of the window as the train began to move away from the platform. "Ravenclaw, I suppose. How about you, Hermione?" "Slytherin, I think." She said bluntly. "Slytherin? Really?" Septimus said, frowning at her. "Why not? What's wrong with Slytherin?" "It's just," Septimus glanced at Drew for support, "they're evil!" Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't be stupid. What, d'you think the founders were making the four houses and went, yes there's one for brave people, one for smart people, one for resilient people and oh…. Are we missing anything? Of course let's have a house for _evil people!_" Septimus flushed. "That's—no—well—" he crossed his arms scowling. "Drew, back me up!" He demanded. Drew laughed. "Don't be silly, Septimus. Just because I don't want to be in Slytherin doesn't mean someone who does is evil! Just… ambitious and cunning." Septimus huffed, but did not argue with his friend, and the rest of the train ride passed in a blur of conversation.

"We should change, I think we're almost there," Hermione stated, when she began to recognize the landscape flashing past. "We'll go to the bathroom," she gestured at herself and Selene, "and you two can stay and change in here." Leading Selene out into the corridor, the two girls made their way to the bathroom. "I'm very excited," Selene said, dreamily. Hermione was nearly certain that the girl was some relative of Luna Lovegood's. "I can't wait to explore the castle. I've heard there are some fantastic creatures there. Have you heard of the Bludgeon Owl? It's three feet tall, and I've heard there's one in the forest there." Hermione smiled affectionately at her. "I'm sure you'll find it," she said. As they passed a compartment, Hermione caught sight of Tom Riddle, reading. _Alone,_ she thought. Good. Gesturing for Selene to continue towards the bathroom, Hermione stepped into the compartment. "Hello, Riddle," she said smiling. Tom looked up at her, a scowl on his face. "Granger. What do you want?" He said, lip curled in a sneer. "Nothing. I see you've changed into your robes already." "I see you haven't." He retorted rudely. Hermione grimaced at his tone. "I just wanted to say hello, but it's clear you're in a foul mood. So now I'll say goodbye." She turned on her heel and flounced out of the compartment, and ran to catch up with Selene.

After changing, they returned to their compartment. Drew and Septimus had changed and started up a game of exploding snap. As they entered the compartment, the deck exploded, and when the smoke cleared, Drew's face was dark with soot. Hermione giggled, and handed him a handkerchief. "Try not to burn your eyebrows off before we even get to school," she teased. Drew hugged grumpily at her, as the train slowed to a stop. "Oooh, this is exciting, isn't it," Selene said, peering out of the window. "Let's go!" Septimus said, already standing at the door to the compartment, eager to join the rest of the students flooding out onto the platform. Hermione reached down to Crookshanks and put him in her pocket. The small cat mewed comfortably, and Hermione followed Septimus out.

Hermione's "first" glimpse of Hogwarts took her breath away. She shared the boat with the friends she'd made on the train, and they had been talking, but when they had caught sight of Hogwarts, they had been stunned into silence. She stared up at the ancient castle that had come to mean so much to her, and could feel tears pool in her eyes. As she rubbed the scar on her wrist, she felt Ron and Harry appear next to her. "Blimey," Ron said. "It looks exactly the same." "It's like coming home," Harry breathed. Ron looked around. His jaw dropped. "Is that Grandpa Septimus?" He said, wide eyed. Hermione grinned back at him. "Blimey," Ron said again, and the boats continued on in silence.

The first years began talking again as they got off the boats. "It's so pretty," Selene said vaguely, gazing around her. "No wonder the Bludgeon Owl chose to live here." "Sure, Selene," Drew drawled. He looked pale. "Are you alright?" Hermione asked, the shades of Ron and Harry trailing behind her, invisible and intangible to the others. "Just nervous abou the Sorting." He muttered.

She nodded, sympathetic. Her first Sorting had been scary too. As they followed the rest of the first years into the entrance hall, she scanned the crowd for familiar faces. "Reckon Hagrid's here yet?" Ron said, leaning against a pillar. "Nah, I think Hagrid was younger than Riddle by a couple of years." Harry said, scanning the students with interest. Both he and Ron looked like eleven year old students. "Are you really going to let us follow you around all year 'Mione?" Ron asked. "Probably not," she said quietly as a woman introducing herself as Professor Merrythought gave the first years an introductory speech. "Dang. Well, call us up often." Ron said, disappointed.

Hermione reached out and took his hand. "Of course," she said. "Won't the hat know something's up when it looks in your head?" Harry asked. "I asked Death about it, and he says that all 'otherworldly knowledge' cannot be detected in my mind," she replied softly. Harry nodded.

"Hermione who are you talking to?" Septimus asked her in confusion, turning to look at her. Hermione dropped her hand back to her side and rubbed her scarred wrist. "No one," she said, as Ron and Harry faded away, and Merrythought led them into the Great Hall.

Everything was exactly as she remembered it, except for the staff table. Instead of Dumbledore sitting in the high, Headmaster's chair, a small tufty haired wizard sat there instead. _Dippet,_ Hermione remembered. Her attention was drawn to the familiar Sorting Hat as the rip opened and it began to sing.

_A hat I am, _

_The sorting hat,_

_But don't judge by what you see,_

_For though I am not pretty,_

_I'm clever as can be!_

_Just slide me on your head_

_And I'll send you on your way,_

_I've never sorted wrong before,_

_I won't lead you astray!_

_You can keep your bowlers black,  
>Your top hats sleek and tall,<br>For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
>And I can cap them all.<em>

_There's nothing hidden in your head_  
><em>The Sorting Hat can't see,<em>  
><em>So try me on and I will tell you<em>  
><em>Where you ought to be.<em>

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_  
><em>Where dwell the brave at heart,<em>  
><em>Their daring, nerve, and chivalry<em>  
><em>Set Gryffindors apart;<em>

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_  
><em>Where they are just and loyal,<em>  
><em>Those patient Hufflepuffs are true<em>  
><em>And unafraid of toil;<em>

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_  
><em>if you've a ready mind,<em>  
><em>Where those of wit and learning,<em>  
><em>Will always find their kind;<em>

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_  
><em>You'll make your real friends,<em>  
><em>Those cunning folks use any means<em>  
><em>To achieve their ends.<em>

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_  
><em>And don't get in a flap!<em>  
><em>You're in safe hands (though I have none)<em>  
><em>For I'm a Thinking Cap!<em>

Hermione smiled as she recognized the song. It seems that the Hat did recycle them somewhat. As the applause died down, Merrythought began reading off the names of the first year students. 'Anton, Rosetta' was the first name called, and the first student to be sorted into Hufflepuff. As Merrythought proceeded down the list, three students were sorted into Ravenclaw, four into Gryffindor—including a beaming "Davies, Drew", two into Slytherin and another three into Hufflepuff. "Granger, Hermione," Merrythought called. Hermione ascended the steps and sad gracefuly on the stool. She gently lowered the hat onto her head, and closed her eyes.

_Well, well, well, _the hat said_ what do we have here? Such a devious child, so many plans for the future. You would fit in any of the houses, but it is clear where you truly belong. Off you go my dear!_ The hat said, as the rip opened wide, and the hat screamed, "SLYTHERIN!".

Hermione took off the hat, setting it back on the stool, and strode purposefully towards the Slytherin table. There was no applause. It was clear to the purebloods that this girl was not one of them and did not belong there. As she took her seat next to her recently sorted housemates, "Black, Alphard" and "Greengrass, Cyrus", they shifted away from her. She ignored the cold reception- there would be plenty of time to remedy that later- and turned back to watch the sorting. After Georgia Parkinson and Quentin Mulciber were sorted into Slytherin, the name Hermione had been waiting for was called. "Riddle, Tom". The pale boy stepped forward, and the hat had barely brushed the top of his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!". Hermione's lips quirked upwards in a ghost of a smile when she saw that he received the same cold welcome as she did.

Riddle was not a wizarding name either.

As he seated himself next to her, Georgia Parkinson immediately shifted farther away. "Riddle," she acknowledged with a tilt of the head. "Granger," he responded, all rudeness from the train replaced by a bland politeness. When Lucas and Lyla Rosier had been sorted into Slytherin, there were only a handful of students left. Selene Summers was sorted into Ravenclaw, Septimus Weasley into Gryffindor, and the last student, a tall Asian boy named Ryan Zhang, into Ravenclaw. With that, Armando Dippet rose to deliver the introductory speech. Hermione, used to Dumbledore's quick three-word statements, groaned as Dippet droned on and on.

"Better stay on the Headmaster's good side," an older student mocked, "Seeing as you'll be begging him to be resorted, _Mudblood._" Hermione looked him straight in the eye. "Watch your tone," she sneered. The older student curled his lip. "Watch your tongue," he whispered, eyes gleaming menacingly. Hermione, was of course, unafraid. She had seen much worse than this petty Slytherin bully. After what seemed like ages, but was only several minutes, Dippet concluded his speech. Hermione clapped unenthusiastically, and turned back to the table to begin the welcoming feast.

After an excellent dinner, and a terrible few minutes of the school song, Hermione and the other first years followed two Slytherin prefects—Druella Black and Olleander Quigby down into the dungeons. As soon as Hermione and Tom entered the common room, they were pushed and shoved by the other Slytherins into the middle of a circle of older students. "Well, well, well, Mudbloods in Slytherin," sneered the boy who had taunted Hermione in the Great Hall earlier. Riddle said nothing, but Hermione lifted her chin defiantly.

"My blood is pure enough for the Sorting Hat to put me in Salazar Slytherin's house," She spat. _Bet they don't know old Salazar was a Muggleborn._ She mused to herself. The boy opposite her snarled in fury, drawing his wand.

"I'll teach you not to defile our house with your _filth._ You probably can't even hold a wand properly, _Mudblood._" Hermione felt rage building in the pit of her stomach, as she too drew her wand.

"Prove it then. Prove that you're better than me." She snarled back. The other students laughed derisively. "Avery will tear you to pieces, Mudblood," a tall, dark haired boy on her left said. Avery smirked at her. "Tarantallegra!" he cried. Hermione flicked her wand lazily and the spell swerved off course. The other students had stopped laughing. "Depulso!" Avery shouted, the smirk beginning to fade from his face. Again, Hermione deflected it.

"Not so cocky now, are you?" She sneered. _Expelliarmus. _She swished her wand languidly, and Avery's wand flew out of his hand. Turning to the rest of the common room, she said in a carrying voice, "My name is Hermione Granger. If you have issues with that, please remember this demonstration. I will not be so lenient with the next person to insult me." Turning, she strode towards the doors at the side of the common room that led to the dormitories, the other students parting to make way for her.

"Where did you learn magic like that?" A voice behind her demanded. Tom. Hermione turned to face him. "I read it in a book," she said, lifting her chin defiantly. Riddle stared at her, his dark brown eyes boring into her own, before jerkily nodding his head, and opening the door into the boy's dormitory.

"Goodnight, Granger." He said curtly. "Goodnight, Riddle," she replied, turning and making her way into her dorm. It was, of course, empty. The other students were still outside, discussing the fact that there was not one but _two_ potential mudbloods in Slytherin. Hermione chose the bed closest to the bathroom, and began unpacking her things. Crookshanks had leapt onto the bed at once, and lay there, purring. She heard the door swing shut, and turned to face Georgia Parkinson and Lyla Rosier.

"Well?" She said, raising her eyebrow. "What's the decision on the 'mudbloods' in Slytherin?" "Don't be ridiculous," Lyla said waving her hand. "You're obviously from a good wizarding background. The way you dueled Avery! I've never seen anything like it!" Georgia nodded. "We'd like to introduce ourselves. I'm Georgia Parkinson, and that's Lyla Rosier," she said.

"Hermione Granger," Hermione said sardonically. The other girls did not seem to catch her sarcasm as they continued talking. "What classes are you looking forward to most, Hermione?" Georgia asked. "Transfiguration, with Professor Dumbledore," Hermione replied at once. Lyla nodded. "Same," They stood there in awkward silence for a moment, before Hermione headed to the bathroom leaving the two purebloods behind. After a relaxing shower, Hermione headed back to bed. Georgia, dark haired and blue eyed with a pale, round face, had taken the bed two beds from hers, and square jawed Lyla, blonde and brown eyed, the one next to Hermione's. When she settled into her four-poster bed drawing the green sheets up to her chin, Crookshanks jumped up beside her. "Oooh, is that your cat?" Georgia asked interestedly. Hermione nodded, eyelids beginning to drift shut. "What's his name?" Georgia asked. "Crookshanks," Hermione replied, as she dozed off to sleep.

_"Where did you get it, Mudblood!" The dark haired witch asked, fury clear on her face. "We f-found it," Hermione said, "we didn't s-steal it. It's a f-fake," "I don't believe you. Crucio!" Bellatrix Lestrange snarled. Hermione screamed._

Hermione jolted awake, heart pounding, mouth dry. Of course she'd have a nightmare on her first day of Hogwarts. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she sat up and checked her watch. It was five in the morning, but she knew from experience how hard it was to go back to sleep after a nightmare, so she padded quietly to the bathroom to get ready. After ensuring her appearance was impeccable right down to each recently dried curl, Hermione picked up her bag and "Occlumency for Beginners", and headed down into the common room. It was now six o'clock, so the Common Room was completely devoid of students.

She looked around, having been unable to see it properly last night. The layout was decidedly different from the Gryffindor common room. It was cool and dry, and very dark. The only light came from torches in brackets on the walls. Everything was green, silver or black in color, and instead of cushy armchairs by the fire, there were hard backed chairs and a long black sofa. Hermione settled heself onto the sofa, and began to read. After an hour, she heard footsteps coming into the common room, and snapped her book shut.

"If it isn't the Mudblood," sneered the familiar voice of Avery. "I thought I taught you your lesson last night," Hermione sneered right back, turning to face him and his friends. She saw Avery's wand twitch, and a jet of red light shot towards her. Leaning to the side, it ruffled her hair before impacting with the wall behind her. Drawing her own wand in a flash, she flicked it silently towards Avery, following up with a combination of _Impedimenta_, _Stupefy_ and _Expelliarmus. _Avery's wand flew out of his hand, and he toppled to the ground. Hermione caught it and stood over him. She decided a Bat Bogey Hex would be a fitting punishment, and left Avery in the common room, wandless and unconscious, being attacked by his own boogers. As she departed, she flung his wand back at one of his friends. "Give it back to him later, or not. I don't really care." And headed to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Hermione had just seated herself at the Slytherin table and helped herself to some toast when Georgia and Lyla plopped down next to her. "Morning Hermione," Lyla said. "When did you wake up? We didn't see you leave the dormitory." Hermione smiled at her. "I've been in the common room reading," Hermione said. "Of course you have," said an unfamiliar voice. "Alphard Black, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Hermione turned to see a boy bearing a striking resemblance to Sirius—high cheek bones, acquiline nose, and grey eyes all lending him an air of aristocracy—standing behind her, hand outstretched. She took it, and instead of shaking her hand, Alphard leaned down to kiss it. Lyla giggled next to her. "I mean, judging by the display both last night and this morning, you must be a talented witch. It doesn't surprise me that you spend your free time in the pursuit of knowledge," Alphard said, sliding in between her and Georgia on the bench. Hermione laughed. _So smooth at such a young age._

Alphard truly did have an uncanny resemblance to Sirius. Just then, Tom Riddle seated himself opposite them, and Lyla and Alphard's friendly chatter died away. Georgia narrowed her eyes at him. Obviously the Slytherins had not felt incline to welcome the other non-pureblood who hadn't displayed any extraordinary abilities. "Riddle," Hermione acknowledged, quirking her lips into a smile. "Granger," he said, eyeing the other first year Slytherins. "Did you sleep well?" Hermione asked in a friendly tone. "Quite." Riddle said, inclining his head. "Cyrus wouldn't quit snoring though," Alphard interjected from next to Hermione. "And Lucas kept _talking._ Honestly we just wanted to sleep." The tension broke, and breakfast continued without event.


	4. Chapter 4

The first class the Slytherin first years had that day was double Potions with the Ravenclaws. Hermione waved at Selene, before sitting down next to Tom. "Hello, Tom. Can I call you Tom?" Hermione said, taking out parchment and quill. He gazed at her appraisingly, before the sides of his mouth quirked upwards in a smile. "I suppose. Then I get to call you Hermione." "Deal," Hermione said, sticking out her hand. He shook it.

As he too began taking out parchment to take notes on, Slughorn swept into the dungeon. Slughorn began explaining the different ways to prepare different potion ingredients. Hermione didn't pay as much attention as she should have. She snuck a glance at Tom. He was paying rapt attention to Slughorn, furiously copying down every word. "I wouldn't expect you to know, but can anyone tell me the use of lacewing flies in potions?" Riddle's hand shot into the air. "Yes, Mr…?" "Riddle, sir," Tom said politely. "Lacewing flies are used to stabilize potions that are used for disguises and concealment, and often lead to several side effects such as dizziness and headaches when included in such potions." "Excellent! Five points to Slytherin." Hermione raised her hand. Slughorn's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Yes, Ms…?" "Granger," Hermione replied. "I would like to add that the side effects of lacewing flies can often be nullified through the addition of bay leaf and an extra counter-clockwise stir." "Indeed, Ms Granger! It seems that Slytherin has gained a pair of fine potioneers this year. Another five points for Slytherin!" He said jovially. Hermione smiled.

"I see I wasn't the only one who finished reading "Basics of Brewing" before school started," Riddle said quietly. Hermione grinned at him. "Did you read all the other textbooks as well?" She said excitedly. "Of course," Tom replied. "Which subject did you find most interesting?" Tom mulled the question over for a moment. "Charms. I think we have it after lunch." "I think you'll be great at it." Hermione stated confidently. "I'm so glad I'm not the only one who actually opens a book around here," she said quietly, aware that Georgia and Lyla were close by. "I swear, no one else here has even bothered cracking open their books yet." Tom nodded, as Slughorn told them to take out their cauldrons. "The person you're sitting with will be your partner for the rest of the year," he said, eyes lingering on Hermione and Tom. "I expect great things from you two," he said winking. "Today we shall begin by brewing a basic Forgetfulness Draught. Just to see what sort of potions knowledge you have. Instructions are in your textbooks on page twelve, as well as on the board." He flicked his wand and the instructions appeared on the blackboard. "The ingredients cupboard is over there, but I expect you to have at least a basic potions kit of your own. Begin!" Hermione turned to Tom.

"My potions kit has all the ingredients for the forgetfulness draught." She pulled it out of her backpack. "We should arrange everything by step," she said. Tom nodded, his pale fingers dancing over the clearly labeled ingredients in her potions kit. "Lethe River Water, Valerian sprigs…" He muttered. Hermione pulled out the four mistletoe berries required, added them to the mortar with two measures of standard potion base, and began crushing them together into a medium fine powder. Tom began adding the ingredients into the cauldron. "Careful," Hermione muttered. "Only two drops of the Lethe River Water! Any more and it'll be ruined." Tom nodded tersely, and began gently heating the cauldron. Hermione counted twenty seconds, then added two valerian sprigs. Tom began to stir the mixture three times clockwise, and Hermione waved her wand over the cauldron, muttering the incantation Slughorn had written on the board. "This is really easy," Tom said, wrinkling his nose. "That's just because you're smart, Tom." Hermione said, smiling. He smirked at her, previous aversion to her company seemingly forgotten. "I didn't notice you having any trouble either, Hermione." Hermione shrugged. "It's like cooking. You just follow the instructions." Tom cocked his head, studying her as if she were an interesting insect he'd found somewhere. "You don't act like an eleven year old," he mused. "Neither do you." Hermione said quietly. The side of his mouth tugged upwards into a smile. "Tom, I realize we didn't exactly get off on the best foot," she said hesitantly. "I quite agree. I'm sorry, I was abominably rude in Diagon Alley. I was just very… overcome… by the shock of entering the Wizarding World. I wanted to take it all in alone. I'm used to being alone and I didn't know how to… interact with you, I suppose," he said, ducking his head. "Well, let's start over. I'm Hermione Granger. And you?" She said, eyes sparkling with mirth. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Hermione. I'm Tom Riddle."

"Well Tom, it's time to add two pinches of this stuff to our cauldron. Would you like to do the honors." Tom's dark eyes glinted with amusement as he took the mortar from her. "Of course. But then, you must be allowed the privilege of five anti-clockwise stirs, dear Hermione." He offered her the stirring rod in a faux-gracious manner. Hermione took it, and as she stirred, the potion lightened in color to a pale blue, exactly as the textbook indicated. Waving her wand over the potion, she was satisfied to see the characteristic lilac bubbles forming on the top of the potion. "Perfect, perfect! Ten points to Slytherin for a textbook Forgetfulness Draught!" exclaimed Slughorn, who had passed by just as Hermione completed the potion. "There is no doubt in my mind that you two will be the star students of the class—oh dear," Behind them, Georgia and Lyla were coughing, waving their hands in front of their faces. They had somehow caused their cauldron to catch fire. Slughorn hurried over to help them. Tom looked at them scornfully. "Honestly, that was one of the easiest classes I've ever attended," he said. "The instructions were _right there_ for goodness sakes. How could anyone mess up?" He sounded so imperious that Hermione began to laugh. "What?" He demanded, staring at her. "Nothing, nothing," she said. "You just sounded like… I don't know… a fussy old lady or something." Tom scowled. He did not enjoy being likened to a fussy old lady. Glancing over at Hermione, he saw the genuine humor in her face, and decided not to press the issue.

Although potions had been a fairly enjoyable experience for the two orphans, transfiguration was not. Tom, having revealed more than he intended about himself to Dumbledore when he'd come to introduce him to the wizarding world, eyed him distrustfully, and Hermione often noticed Dumbledore sending watchful glances at the two of them. When Hermione and Tom were the first two to successfully transfigure the matchstick he had given them into a pencil, he had given them both long, searching stares, before awarding a measly total of five points to Slytherin. On the other hand, when Septimus Weasley, showing more talent in transfiguration than his descendent Ron ever had, also managed the transfiguration later in the class, Dumbledore had beamed at him and awarded ten points to Gryffindor to both him and Drew Davies, who'd been partnered with Septimus, and had transfigured leaves on his matchstick. This blatant show of favoritism surprised Hermione, and she saw that it upset Tom as well. He watched Dumbledore with narrowed eyes for the rest of the lesson, idly transfiguring the matchstick into a rose, then a daisy, then back into a matchstick. _He's extremely gifted,_ Hermione noted, observing him in shock. Of course she had known that Lord Voldemort was a powerful wizard, but even so, the magnitude of his talents at such a young age astounded her. She remembered how she'd had to struggle for an entire lesson in her first year to transfigure her own matchstick into something vaguely resembling a needle, and here Tom was doing similar transfigurations almost effortlessly. "I don't like him," Tom said quietly to her. Hermione gave him a weak smile. "I don't think he likes us very much either," she replied confidentially. Tom sniffed, seemingly offended. "I'll make him like me," he said, coolly confident in his own abilities to charm others. "You'll see."

But while both Tom and Hermione, the two oddities in Slytherin, managed to charm all their other teachers through a combination of sheer talent and charismatic persuasion, Dumbledore stubbornly remained distant and cold to their manipulations. Hermione and Riddle's tentative acquaintance had strengthened into something resembling a friendship, a fact she had confided to Ginny and Harry when she'd summoned them on Halloween. It was clear that the two of them were both far more mature than the rest of their year mates—a side effect from Tom growing up in an orphanage and Hermione being mentally, an 18 year old—and both were at the top of the class. While their relationship could not be described as unconditional friendship, as it had been for her, Ron and Harry in her previous life, she couldn't help but enjoy the challenges he presented her with. She had finally met her match. Hermione's influence in Hogwarts grew. The upper year Slytherins treated her, and as a result, Tom, with respect. "With the way they do magic, they have to at least be half-bloods," she'd heard whispered in the common room, and she'd smirked to herself. Her friendship with Septimus Weasley, Drew Davies, and Augusta Ambrose—a Gryffindor girl that Septimus and Drew had introduced her to—was steady despite their dislike for "that weird Riddle boy". She also had a growing base of influence within Slytherin. The first years all seemed to look up to her as their unofficial leader, and she reinforced this image by helping them with homework and teaching them spells before they were taught in class. Tom had been exasperated at what he'd seen as a waste of time, until Hermione pointed out that many of their year mates came from powerful and influential backgrounds, whereupon he too began to help the other students, his false veneer of helpfulness and perfect civility unnoticed by all but Hermione, who saw the flashes of irritation in his eyes whenever Georgia or Lyla—they were truly Pansy Parkinson and Lavender Brown reincarnated, she thought—failed to grasp something for the umpteenth time. Hermione also began delving deeper into magical studies. Having gone through six years of Hogwarts already, she easily completed her assignments, and as a result, had a lot of time on her hands. She often found herself in the library, researching obscure magicks, both light and dark, and, eager to challenge herself, began practicing with a few of her year-mates—notably Alphard Black. After running into Tom in the same sections of the library, she concluded that he too was beginning to advance his studies in magic. The way Quentin Mulciber began cringing away from him during their interactions only highlighted this suspicion. Quentin had never forgotten that she and Tom were not purebloods. Hermione said nothing. Privately, she felt that he'd deserved whatever Tom did to him—he'd been nothing short of horrid to her ever since school started. Come Christmastime, however, and their routine shifted.

It was a well established one. Hermione would always rise early, around six in the morning, and would enjoy an hour of uninterrupted self study in the common room. Around seven, Tom, Alphard, Lucas, Lyla and Georgia would enter the common room, and the six of them would head to breakfast together, at their spot. Cyrus and Quentin were friends, and sat further away with Quentin's cousin, Darin Mulciber. Whenever they were told to pair up, Georgia and Lyla would always pair together, while Alphard would either pair with Hermione or Tom, leaving Tom with either Lucas or Hermione. In charms, Alphard and Hermione often partnered together, while in potions and transfiguration, Tom and Hermione always worked together. In Herbology, Professor Millibar had, in an attempt to promote "inter-house unity", insisted that they partner up with at least one student from a different house, so Hermione found herself working with Septimus and Drew, which suited her just fine. Astronomy was usually individual work which was perfectly tolerable, and of course, being who she was, Hermione scored top marks in all her classes, which frustrated Tom to no end. However, when the holidays arrived, none of her friends put their names down to stay for the holidays. "I'm sorry 'Mione, but my mum insists on having the whole family for Christmas," Septimus had told her apologetically, when she'd asked if he was staying. Drew and Augusta offered similar excuses, while the Slytherins did nothing to hide their eagerness to go home. "Mother said she'd get me the newest racing broom," Lucas Rosier told anyone who would listen. His sister was no better. "I'm getting a full set of self-adjusting dress robes made from acromantula silk," she sniffed haughtily. Georgia Parkinson had gasped, and Hermione had endured hours of discussion on whether Acromantula silk was worth the extra cost. Alphard was the only one who seemed genuine when he expressed his regret at not being able to celebrate Christmas with her. "But Father said we were to meet a few new relatives. Apparently Dorea got married to Charlus Potter, and he wants to make arrangements for Walburga and Orion. Euch." As a result, the castle was nearly completely empty for the few weeks of winter break. Of course, there was one person who's company she could count on.

"Tom?" she knocked on the door leading to the first year's boy's dormitory. It was very similar to the layout of her own. First there was the large woodent door in the common room, leading into a small circular. There were seven doors, and each had the year of graduation of the students inside labeled on a plaque, as well as the names of the students themselves. **Alphard Black. Cyrus Greengrass. Quentin Mulciber. Tom Riddle. Lucas Rosier. **The door swung open, and Tom stood there, apathetic. _He is so tall for a first year,_ she noted idly. "What, Hermione?" He asked dryly. "The others have all left, and I was… lonely." She replied truthfully. Tom's irritation was clear on his face. "Well go be lonely somewhere else," he said shortly. Tom was always unerringly polite and courteous to the other Slytherins—the perfect gentleman, Lyla and Georgia always cooed—but around her, he often dropped the façade. Like Dumbledore, she had already seen the side of him that he tried so hard to conceal, and he saw no reason to waste energy on trying to charm her. Hermione scowled and turn away. She shouldn't have expected anything more really, but the rejection still stung. She'd hoped they'd be better friends by now, but—Tom's voice called her back. "Hermione? I'm sorry, that was mean. I was just in the middle of something. If you'd just wait ten minutes, we can go to the library together, or something." Hermione flashed him a smile. _There, much better,_ she thought in satisfaction, as she watched him retreat into his empty dormitory.

When Tom emerged from the dormitory and into the common room, Hermione was waiting, reading the most recent copy of _Transfiguration Today_. "I thought the recent argument that conjuration was really a more advanced form of transfiguration was really ridiculous," Tom said, after a moment of silence. "I disagree," Hermione said, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. "When wizards thing about conjuration, they seem to be under the impression that they're just creating something out of thin air," "That's what conjuration is, Hermione," Tom said, exasperated. "Is it? If you remember that matter cannot be created or destroyed, then it's highly possible that what we think of as conjuration is, in reality, the transfiguration of individual atoms in the air into the desired object." Hermione replied. Tom stared at her, before a genuine smile graced his features, lighting up his eyes. "You really are something else, Hermione," he said quietly. She took it for the compliment it was, and grinned back at him. Thus marked the beginning of a deeper level of friendship between the two. Without the other first years around to act as a foil, Tom and Hermione often found themselves debating magical theory. Tom, to Hermione's surprise, displayed an incredible knowledge of magical history, and was an excellent person to bounce ideas off of. They soon found themselves slipping into a routine. After breakfast, they would often explore the castle until either one of them got tired, before heading to the library. If they both got bored of that, they would often head to an unused classroom and practice their spell work. Hermione had never had such a fulfilling holiday—unlike those spent with Harry and Ron, or even with her parents, who'd she'd summoned one night when she'd felt particularly homesick, she actually felt like she was accomplishing something.

Hermione woke on Christmas day to find a small pile of presents at the foot of her bed. _I wonder… Should I…It's Christmas… No one should be alone on Christmas._ Rolling out of bed, Hermione padded into the boy's dormitory. Tom had not yet woken up. Pulling aside the curtains on the four poster bed, she noted, in a detached, clinical sort of way, how innocent and vulnerable he looked while sleeping. The coldness had gone from his face, and he looked just like any other eleven year old boy. "Tom," she whispered, shaking him gently. "Tom, wake up. It's Christmas!" "Go away," he growled, stuffing his head under his pillow. _Who knew the Dark Lord wasn't a morning person,_ Hermione mused to herself. Looking at the foot of his bed, she was slightly surprised to note that there were only three or four presents sitting there. _Six, if you count the two I haven't given him yet,_ she thought. "Tom, get up! You've got presents!" At this, Tom stirred, cracking an eye open. With his hair sticking up in every direction, rather thank neatly combed and parted, he looked so much like Harry that Hermione thought she felt her heart swell with nostalgia. "What?" he said sharply, sitting up. Hermione merely pointed to the foot of his bed. "Presents," he said, tasting the word on his tongue. "Yes, but you have to open mine first," Hermione insisted, and placed the elegantly wrapped packages on the blankets. Tom glanced at them, then back at her face. He looked at her for a long moment, before nodding. "Of course," he said, his mask firmly in place. Hermione watched as he slowly, meticulously unwrapped her gifts. "You said you could speak to snakes," she said nervously, as he lifted the small python from the enchanted box it had been placed in, eyes wide in wonder. "I know Dumbledore said they weren't allowed, but he never has to know, does he? Just make sure it doesn't… I don't know, eat my cat." Tom had not moved. He was gazing at the snake as if it were the most beautiful star in the sky. "For me?" he whispered, so quietly Hermione barely heard him. "Yes," she said. "What are you going to name her?" Tom tilted his head and hissed softly at the serpent. "She says she's called Nagini," Tom told her. Hermione's stopped breathing. _WHAT._ She pasted a smile onto her face, glad that Tom was too distracted to notice her reaction. "Lovely," she choked out. Tom turned to her, dark eyes blazing. "Thank you," he said softly. Hermione shook her head. "You don't have to thank me, Tom. I got you a present. That's all." Tom swallowed, and suddenly the emotion was gone from his eyes. "Of course," he said, eyes dropping back to the second, unopened parcel. "It's just a book," Hermione said, flushing. "A copy of Advanced Charms by Selma Bigby," Tom nodded, and opened it. "I shall enjoy reading it," he said, placing it on his bedside table. "Well…" Hermione said, shifting her weight awkwardly, "I'll leave you alone to open the rest of your presents then," she shuffled out of the room. "See you at breakfast. Ten minutes?" Tom called out from behind her. She flashed him a thumbs up, and headed back into her own dormitory. Her own haul was quite nice. From Lyla she had received a charm bracelet, from Georgia a charm to put on the charm bracelet—a cat. Lucas had given her a new set of eagle feather quills, Septimus a box of chocolates, Drew a book of hexes and jinxes, Augusta a set of leather bound notebooks, Selene a strange crystal ball that Hermione decided would make a good paperweight, and Alphard had sent an absolutely stunning silver necklace. She read the note attached: Walburga tried to throw this out. I thought you'd like it. Alphard. It was a simple silver chain with a simple silver pendant, straight like a wand, dangling in the middle. Hermione absolutely adored it, and she wrote Alphard to tell him so.

Later at breakfast, something was definitely different between Tom and Hermione. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something had changed in the way they interacted. It was only later that she realized that he had been completely unguarded during their morning interactions. She had thought that he no longer bothered to put up his façade when speaking to her in private, but she had not realized that there had still been an emotional barrier separating them. As she lay in bed that night, she realized that he had taken that down as well. She resisted the urge to lick her finger and draw a tally mark in the air. _Interdimensional time travel manipulation: 1, Evil Dark Lord: 0. _ She drifted off to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

When the other first years arrived back at Hogwarts, they did not immediately pick up on the change in Hermione and Tom's relationship. However, when classes started up again, it was clear that the dynamic of their group had shifted. While previously Hermione had been the one to hold them together, Tom now began charming and manipulating his way to becoming just as integral to the band of friends. Tom and Hermione became, indisputably, the leaders of the first year Slytherins, and Hermione had caught Tom intimidating a few of the second years as well—including Alphard's sister, Walburga.

She could not deny that Tom could be frightening at times. Instead of an eleven year old's fits of childish temper, Tom was in possession of a cold anger and resentment that first showed when Cyrus had, in an effort to one up the boy, tried to flush Nagini down the toilet. Hermione had not been there personally, but Alphard and Lucas both assured her that Tom had been exceptionally frightening, and judging by the way Cyrus had steadfastly avoided sleeping in the dormitory since (Hermione had spotted him sleeping on the couch), she was inclined to agree with their assessment.

None of the boys wanted much to do with him after that, and tensions ran high for a while, before Tom managed to charm himself back into their good graces with a few apologetic words, and devastating use of his wide brown eyes. Hermione had teased him about this, after witnessing his use of his "pathetic orphan face" to great effect on Professor Merrythought. He had shot back that as a Slytherin, it was "only my duty to use whatever resources I have to their best effect," to which she had no reply.

It was interesting to watch how much Tom had changed since the start of the year. Whereas before he had been the lone, sullen and socially awkward orphan of Slytherin, he now became more outgoing, determined to become Slytherin's golden boy. He began hanging around some of the upperclassmen, worming his way into their good graces. While the closeness that had sprung of the Christmas they had spent together, alone in the castle, remained, both Tom and Hermione had trouble finding time to maintain the relationship. Obviously, they had many classes together, but after class was over, Tom often disappeared into empty classrooms to practice magic with the upperclassmen, leaving Hermione to do her own studies in the library alone.

While Tom's influence with the upper years grew, Hermione expanded her own influence with her peers. She began inviting Septimus, Drew and Augusta to spend time with her and her Slytherin year mates during their study sessions, and after a while, a few of the other first years had come by as well, asking for help with homework. Hermione had obliged, and as she began to hold study sessions, she often had flashbacks to her fifth year. _Harry made teaching seem much easier,_ she would often think to herself, as she watched her year mates practicing the hover charm. She was very pleased when it became apparent that the first years were carrying tales to Dumbledore. When he finally awarded her the appropriate amount of points for transfiguring a pebble into a pillow, she could have crowed in triumph.

"How did you do that?" Tom asked, unsmiling. He hated being beaten at anything, and Hermione had somehow managed to get into Dumbledore's good books, while his own attempts had been fruitless. Hermione smirked at him. _I wonder if it's a Slytherin thing, smirking,_ she thought to herself,_ since I've suddenly been doing it quite a lot now. _"Whatever could you mean, Tom? I've just been my normal, _helpful_ self. I'm ever so glad that Dumbledore can recognize that I just want to be there for my fellow classmates," she said, pouting comically. Tom had gotten quite annoyed with her, but really, she reflected, it was his own fault for not putting in more effort at playing the nice boy where no one could see him.

But while Hermione had gotten Dumbledore off her back, Tom had now begun to show an unusual amount of interest in what she did around school. He seemed to have finally picked up on her subtle networking amongst the other first years, and had seemed both surprised and pleased. Regardless, he began keeping a closer eye on where she went, and with whom. It didn't particularly bother her, as she generally spent her daylight hours engaging in fairly innocent activities, leaving night time for the practice and learning advanced magic—some of it, she hesitated in admitting to Ron and Harry whenever she got the chance to summon it, was rather Dark—in unused classrooms, aided by the Hallow granting her invisibility. However, his constant surveillance of her was slightly unsettling. He simply saw so much more than she intended or expected. "You look tired," he'd said one day in charms, after he'd been the first to master the Incendio charm. "What do you do at night? Lyla tells me sometimes you aren't back in the dorm by curfew." _Damn that Lyla Rosier, _Hermione cursed. "I practice magic, sometimes," she'd admitted carefully. "Show me. Or I'll tell a teacher," Riddle had insisted, so she'd taken him with her, and practiced a few third year spells. He seemed satisfied with her explanation, but now Hermione noticed that he too would often show up to breakfast with dark rings under his eyes. Tom had to be the best. He had to be. So after learning what Hermione had been up to, he too decided that he'd better start learning magic after class as well. When Hermione had come across him one night, invisible of course, she'd been amazed to see him perform a flawless Reducto curse. _Exceptional,_ she'd thought. Tom Riddle had always been special.

The end of year exams only further proved Tom Riddle's talents. He and Hermione both scored _perfectly_ in every class. She'd been shocked. Of course, having taken similar exams, she'd known she'd do very well, but for Tom who was actually going through his _first_ year to score that well—it was absolutely mind boggling to her. Tom had been very pleased with himself. Having often dragged behind Hermione by a point or two in most classes, he was very smug to see that all his extra practice had paid off. The end of the year also brought some other happy surprises. Lyndon Avery, the boy who'd dueled Hermione at the beginning of the year, and who most often made scathing remarks about her 'impure bloodline leading to insufferable know-it-all tendencies' had most mysteriously contracted spattergroit. Hermione felt no need to admit to contaminating his pumpkin juice. His spattergroit had been transmitted to both Darin and Quentin Mulciber, which had been an unexpected, but still quite enjoyable side effect. Alphard had also announced the birth of his little brother—'I got to name him! He's called Cygnus.", a fact that had apparently been worth celebrating by pranking several upper year Gryffindors. (She'd had to apologize to Septimus, who'd been caught in the crossfire and ended up with green and silver stripes on his arms and legs, making him look like a bizarre human scarf).

"It is truly incredible how detrimental you were to the learning environment of Hogwarts," she'd said to Harry on the day of the Leaving Feast, having locked herself in the bathroom under pretense of showering to summon them. "I can't help that trouble finds me!" He'd protested indignantly. "Yeah, well Hermione's got a point mate," Ron had agreed. "First year—a teacher dies, and the sorcerer's stone gets destroyed. Second year—teacher get's obliviated and students are petrified. Third year—teacher turns into a _werewolf_ and dementors are running around everywhere making everyone miserable. Fourth year—" "Shut up, Ron," Harry said grumpily. "You won't believe what a relaxing year I've had," Hermione sighed in satisfaction. "Even with the occasional biting remark about not being a pureblood, this has easily been the least eventful year of my magical life. And considering the fact that I've been trying to gain the trust of a young Lord Voldemort, that's really saying something."

"Yeah, how's that going anyway?" Ron asked, leaning against the sink. Hermione shrugged. Just then, "HERMIONE, if you use up all the warm water again, I am going to SCREAM." Georgia banged on the door for good measure.

"Great Salazar, I hate that girl," Hermione grumbled, as she dispelled the shades of Harry and Ron. "Al_right_, calm down Parkinson!" She shouted back. She'd finished her shower ten minutes ago, and had left the water running to cover up the sounds of her talking to Ron and Harry. Grimacing, she opened the door, to see Georgia covered from head to toe in some sort of green slime.

"What on _earth?_" Hermione exclaimed. "Don't ask," came Lyla's voice, as Georgia stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Hermione furrowed her brow at her, and Lyla caved. "Alright—you know Alphard's cousin, what's her name again?" "Lucretia?" Hermione supplied. Lyla shook her head. "No, no, sorry, I meant his sister… Walburga, that's right—so many Blacks, I don't know how anyone keeps them straight, and we'll be getting a Malfoy next year too—anyway, Walburga spotted Georgia snooping around her beauty supplies, and got really angry, so Georgia said that she was an inbred bat, and Walburga said that Desmodena Parkinson had been a good for nothing Squib, so Georgia tried to hex her, and Walburga said that if she was going to act like slime, she should look like it too." Lyla's eyes glinted with glee at the drama.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Honestly. "_It won't come off!_" Georgia screeched from the bathroom. Sighing, Hermione got up and stumped over to the bathroom.

"Open up, Georgia," she said, irritation clear in every word. "I'll get it off for you, and you can stop screeching like a dying harpy." Georgia opened the door, and glowered at Hermione. With a quick flick of her wand, and a mental _Finite_, Georgia was no longer covered with slime. Georgia muttered an insincere "thanks", as she closed the bathroom door again—and Hermione resisted the urge to bang her head on the wall in frustration. _They're all so immature,_ she screamed mentally. _Patience. Patience. Patience._ She chanted, as she made her way down to the library. Books didn't screech and scream for such trivial reasons after all. At least, most of them didn't. Some of the tomes in the restricted sections might…

Hermione was unsurprised to find herself alone in the library. Most students were packing, or spending time with friends. Exams were over, after all. But Hermione enjoyed being alone with her books. She held up _Advanced Occlumency_ to her nose and inhaled deeply. She loved the smell of old books.

"Ah, that explains a lot," Tom Riddle's voice came from behind her. Hermione turned and raised her eyebrows questioningly. "There's glue in books, and sniffing glue leads to erratic behavior, you know." She laughed. "Why aren't you in the common room with the others?" She asked Tom. As he seated himself opposite her with _Advanced Transfiguration and Charms for the O.W.L Student_, he arched a brow at her. "I could ask the same of you," he replied. Hermione sighed, and rested her chin in her hand. "Georgia was being stupid. Well, stupider than usual. Honestly, everyone know Walburga Black's nutty about blood purity—but what did Georgia do? Call her an inbred bat. I'm surprised she just got away with a Goop jinx, to be honest." Tom snickered. "What about you?" She asked curiously. Tom shrugged. "I was bored, and Alphard and Lucas wanted to go flying to 'prepare for next year'. I didn't see you in the common room, so I thought I might come down here and read, and maybe find you as well. Obviously, I was successful."

Hermione let out a deep sigh as she thought about the Leaving Feast and returning to Muggle London. And Windings Orphanage. Where she'd be unable to do magic. For three months. "I'm not looking forward to leaving," she admitted, tracing an interesting grain of wood in the desk. "Me neither," Tom said bitterly. "At least you have something to go back to," he said, face twisted in resentment. Hermione looked up in surprise. "What do you mean?" she said. _Doesn't he know I'm an 'orphan' just like him? _She racked her brain, before coming to the conclusion that she'd never actually told him, but assumed that he'd made the connection when she'd gone with Dumbledore to his orphanage. "You've seen where I live," Tom muttered quietly. "At least you've got a _home._"

He said the word with such longing that Hermione felt her heart swell in pity. "I don't." she said quietly, not looking at him. "I thought you knew. I'm an orphan too."

Tom froze. "What?" he asked, staring at her. "But you knew so much magic—you have your own money- what?"

Hermione was determinedly staring at the whorl in the wood of the desk. "Windings Orphanage. It's actually not far from Wools." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw disbelief on Tom's face. "Why do you think I was with Dumbledore that day he came to give you your letter?" She asked him. "I—I suppose I'll see you around London then," Tom said, abruptly getting up. "See you later," he said over his shoulder as he left. Tears sprung unexpectedly to Hermione's eyes. She knew that Tom was taking time to reevaluate her in light of the new information, but his sudden departure and dismissal stung, especially since she had hoped that he'd genuinely begun to open up to her.

_Don't be silly, Hermione,_ she told herself. _You've got Ron and Harry and your mum and dad and Ginny and even Luna. You've even got Alphard Black and stupid Georgia Parkinson to keep you company. _She turned back to _Advanced Occlumency_ but she kept rereading the same passage over and over, and decided in the end, to give it up as a bad job and wandered out onto the Quidditch pitch to find Alphard and Lucas.

The Leaving Feast had brought back memories of the Welcoming Feast at the beginning of the year. Tom was distant and cold towards her once more, and while the other Slytherins were now much more warm towards her, Lyndon Avery and Quentin Mulciber had both been released from the infirmary. _At least Darin's still spattergroit-y, _Hermione comforted herself. As she curled up to sleep that night, all her things packed neatly into her tiny trunk, Crookshanks purring by her head, Hermione's last feeling was dread at returning to Windings.

Hermione had never been so sad at seeing the Hogwarts Express. "It's alright, it's only three months," Harry consoled her, as she climbed aboard. "I know exactly how you feel. But Hogwarts will be waiting for you." Hermione sighed gustily, and was about to reply, when Septimus' head popped out of a nearby compartment. "Oi, Hermione, come sit with us!" He called. "That's my cue to go, I suppose," Harry said wryly. Hermione gave him a small smile as she rubbed her wrist. "I'll see a lot of you this summer, I'll wager," she whispered, as he faded away, and she moved to join Septimus, Drew, Augusta and some other Gryffindor girl who was introduced as Muriel Prewitt.

About halfway through the train ride, Hermione excused herself and went to find the Slytherins. _I could probably just follow the smell of that god awful perfume Lyla's started wearing, and track them that way,_ Hermione thought to herself, as she searched through the compartments of the train. She saw Tom surrounded by a few second years in one, and waved. He nodded politely, and Hermione bit back a sigh. Tom had obviously been unsure of how to react to the realization that he'd managed to misjudge Hermione and her motivations for an entire year, and had resorted to what she hoped was temporary distancing. _Whatever, I've still got seven years before he escapes me completely, _she rationalized, nudging open another compartment door.

"There you are!" Lucas Rosier exclaimed, patting the seat next to him. "We'd begun to wonder if the Gryffindorks had stuffed you in a closet somewhere." Hermione laughed. "Don't be silly Lucas, the Gryffindors adore Hermione, don't they?" Lyla said teasingly. Hermione ducked her head in false modesty. In all honesty, the Gryffindors did like Hermione. She'd worked hard to ingratiate herself with the younger lions, and even the older students had begun to take notice of the snake that didn't mind associating with muggleborns and Gryffindors. "How lovely," sneered Walburga Black, who was sitting, arms folded, beside her brother, Alphard, and cousin, Lucretia.

"Walburga," Hermione acknowledged politely. While Walburga had never outright attacked her the way Lyndon had, she'd often dropped snide comments regarding her blood status, that were rather tiresome. Lucretia elbowed her cousin sharply. "Be nice," she hissed. Hermione leaned back, amused. "Any plans for the summer?" She asked Alphard. He shrugged. "Father says we might go to France," Lucretia sighed sadly. "Lucky! Mother says French wizards have 'silly notions regarding blood purity' and doesn't want us to associate with them. We're to stay in England and attend all the stuffy balls and tea parties we're invited to." Lyla leaned forward eagerly, and began engaging Lucretia in discussion regarding the invitations their families were expecting. Alphard noticed Hermione's disinterest in the topic, and tossed her a book. Hermione caught it, surprised. "You looked bored," Alphard said shrugging. Hermione didn't have the heart to tell him that she'd already read _Hogwarts a History_ at least ten times, and nodded in thanks. Thus passed the rest of the train ride.

Hermione made her way out into Kings Cross alone. She had not expected Ms Hastings to pick her up, and she'd learned how to get around London herself a long time ago. As Hermione began to walk in the direction of Windings, a voice at her shoulder made her jump in shock. "So you were telling the truth," Tom said, materializing out of the crowd. "Of course," Hermione said. "Why would I lie?" Tom shrugged. "To get my trust, sympathy, you name it." He adjusted his grip on his trunk, and Hermione saw that Nagini was coiled around his wrist.

"What are you going to do with Nagini?" Hermione asked, curiously. Tom grimaced. "As long as no one sees her, I'll be fine. I clean my own room, so it shouldn't be too hard to keep her inside and out of sight." Hermione nodded. "Same," she said, indicating Crookshanks, who was laying quietly in his cat carrier. "Where's your trunk?" Tom demanded, looking around. Hermione smirked at him (_smirking again? I swear, being a Slytherin comes with increased smirks. It's a fact! Remember how Draco had it down to an art?)_ "Undetectable expansion charm on the inside," she said, showing him her tiny trunk. Tom arched his eyebrow. "That's a very advanced spell," he said, obviously surprised. "Of course it is," Hermione said, grinning. Tom eyed her speculatively. "We could… meet up over the summer," he said suddenly. "Do our homework together, and stuff…" Hermione nodded. "I'd like that, Tom."

They'd made their way out of Kings Cross Station.

"Well, I go this way. And Windings… is that way, I believe." Tom said, pointing. Hermione nodded. "Goodbye then," Tom said, formally. "See you, Tom." Hermione replied, as he turned and vanished into an alley. First year was over. Now she had to get through the summer.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione groaned into her pillow.

"Cheer up 'Mione," came Ron's cheerful voice from behind her. "There's plenty of books to read. And I bet if you went around London, you'd find loads of stuff to do!"

"Shut up, Ronald," she growled, turning to face the shade of her dead friend. "Just because you and Harry get to relive life's greatest hits or live out your fantasies or whatever it is you do in the Afterlife, doesn't mean my life is one thrilling moment after another."

The twelve-year old shade pouted, and Hermione felt her heart soften. "I was just trying to help," Ron said sadly.

"I know, I'm sorry Ron. It's just—I'm so bored! And everyone here avoids me like the plague."

"You could always go to Diagon Alley," Harry pointed out.

"I know, but honestly, what could I do there anyway? It's not like I can get a job—no one would hire an eleven year old." Hermione grumbled.

"Why'd you get a cat anyway?" Ron asked, watching Crookshanks playing with a cat toy with a bemused air. "An owl would be much more convenient for staying in touch with people over the summer, and maybe you wouldn't be this bored—"

"An owl! Morgana, Ron you're the best!" Hermione cried, jumping off the bed to give him a huge hug. Rubbing her wrist, she dispelled the confused shades and transformed into her animagus form—a large eagle owl whose only resemblance to the girl she had been just moments before, lay in the brown color of its feathers. Hermione hooted dolefully, and flapped her wings. Last time she'd transformed had been a couple of weeks before Dumbledore had arrived to tell her about Hogwarts, and she'd not managed proper flight yet. Hermione pumped her wings quickly, and to her surprise and delight, she managed to rise a foot above the ground.

Hermione spent the next week teaching herself how to fly. At the end of the week, Hermione opened the window of her room, and transformed into the eagle owl. With great trepidation, she flew up to the window and looked down on the streets below.

"Don't lose your nerve now, Hermione", she thought to herself, and after a moment's hesitation, she launched herself out of the window and into the air.

Hermione immediately began flapping her wings, and began to rise up into the air. Hooting gleefully, she flew over the streets of London, high above the rooftops. "Maybe I don't hate flying so much any more", Hermione mused to herself as she did a loop-de-loop in the air. Exhilarated, she turned and began winging her way back to Winding's.

When she landed on her bed and transformed back into Hermione, she was surprised to see another owl in the corner of the room, perched on her closet.

"Hello there," she said, crossing the room and holding out an arm for the tawny owl to flutter down on. "Who sent you?"

_Human girl asks who sent me? The boy Davies sends me with a letter._ Hermione was not surprised. Over the course of the year, she'd overheard the owls chattering at breakfast, and after some research, had found that it was not unheard of for an animagus to be able to communicate with animals sharing the same form.

"Drew sent you? Would you mind waiting so that I can send you back with a reply? I don't have my own owl, you see." Hermione told the owl. "What's your name?"

_Human girl can understand me?_ Hermione nodded. _Master Davies named me Everett._ _I will wait for your reply._ After Hermione had untied the scroll of parchment from Everett's leg, and tossed him a dead mouse that Crookshanks had caught when she'd let him out the previous night, he flew back up to the top of the closet.

Hermione turned away, having no desire to see the mouse get swallowed whole, and unrolled the parchment.

_Dear Hermione,_

_How's your summer been so far? Mine's been quite dull. Mama's caught dragon pox and even though it's not dangerous unless you're really old or really young, it's still contagious, so she's been moved to St. Mungo's. Since dad spends most of his time at work, I'm alone in the house. I've never wanted to have a sibling so badly._

_Have you started on your holiday work yet? Knowing you, you finished it the day you got back from Hogwarts. Honestly, Hermione, I have no idea how you do it. You really should've been in Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin._

_Anyway, the main point of this letter is to ask if you'd like to come over sometime? I've written to Septimus already, and he says that he's free to visit as well. Maybe we could all meet up and hang out?_

_Hope to hear back from you soon!_

_Drew_

_P.S Septimus says that he wants to write, but that you'll have to wait until he gets a new owl. Apparently his brother Octavius sat on their old one and it died. It's so easy to see how they're related, isn't it?_

Hermione bit back a laugh. Honestly, who sits on their own owl? Poor creature. Sitting down at her desk, Hermione began penning her reply.

_Dear Drew,_

_I cannot express how glad I am to have received your owl. I've been positively dying of boredom since Hogwarts ended. I'd love to come over. When would be a good time?_

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione_

Hermione then tied the response to Everett's leg.

"I hope you don't mind, but I'd like to follow you. If I can figure out where Drew lives, I can carry my own letters to him, in the event that you're not around." Hermione told him.

_Try to keep up, human girl!_ The owl chirped mischievously, and soared gracefully out of the window. Hermione transformed as well, and followed as best she could.

Several hours later, Everett began to slow down.

_We are here, human girl._ Hermione chirped in annoyance.

_I've told you, my name is Hermione_, she grumbled. Everett hooted in amusement, and began to fly lower. Hermione's keen eyes could make out a large house hidden among trees.

"Drew does come from a wealthy, pureblood family", she thought to herself. Everett landed on a windowsill, and tapped on the window with his beak. As the window opened, he flew inside, hooting out a goodbye to Hermione. She landed in a copse of trees to rest her wings, exhausted but triumphant. Her glee faded somewhat as she realized how many other places she needed to find. She mentally ticked them off on her nonexistent fingers. "Blacks live at Grimmauld Place, do the Weasleys still live at Ottery St. Catchpole? No idea where Augusta Ambrose lives, Rosiers? No clue. Parkinson? Do I even want to write to her…" Hermione sighed. She'd start off writing to Alphard, and maybe he would have an owl who could direct her to the Rosier and Parkinson dwelling place. And she could always write to Drew for Septimus and Augusta's address.

Hermione spent the first part of her summer exploring her other form, winging her way to the homes of her friends, whom, she realized with a pang of something she couldn't quite describe- guilt, confusion?—were all purebloods. They all lived in grand old houses—with the exception of Septimus, who did live in Ottery St Catchpole, although not in the Burrow, but in a nice, roomy cottage. Her friends thought nothing of the brown eagle owl that came bearing her letters, and one day Druella Rosier, Lyla's cousin, saw her and decided to name her Pixie—presumably for her tufted ears—and the name stuck.

When she went to the Davies house, she met Octavius Weasley for the first time. He was a burly boy, and reminded her of Charlie Weasley. He was three years younger than Septimus. The four of them explored the Davies estate, and wound up playing a game o Quidditch. Hermione was surprised to learn that her balance on a broomstick had drastically improved. She supposed had Pixie to thank for that.

When she went inside with the boys, Mrs. Davies nearly fainted at the sight of her, muddy and sweating, and pulled her aside. "My dear," she said, clearly distressed, "Young witches just don't do things like this. Quidditch is a boy's sport. Don't tell me your mother never taught you." Hermione did not know how to respond, and instead, just smiled and nodded, bemused and slightly offended.

Several days after, Alphard finally returned from France, and sent her a letter with an enormous Great Gray named Ajax, detailing the trials and tribulations he faced as a member of the Black family.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I am so unbelievably glad to be back in England. Walburga was absolutely insufferable, and it made the trip absolutely dreadful. Cygnus cried the whole time, and as I am younger than Burg, I got to babysit the entire trip._

_France seems to be a lovely place, but there was just no way to escape all the Blacks that decided to convene in the family chalet. Do you have any idea how many Blacks there are? The answer is loads. Cedrella and Callidora—my second cousins or something, I really have no idea any more—are alright, but they're the only ones. We managed to toss Walburga and Cassiopeia into a fountain once, and that was brilliant until they started jinxing us. Callidora got hit by a nasty hair-growing curse and her eyebrows got so bushy that they covered her eyes. It was rather dreadful._

_And, unfortunately, Walburga seems to have actually been paying attention in Mother's French lessons, because she wasted no time in lambasting one of our waiters the other day, as being a filthy halfblood. I swear, he was almost crying by the time she finished her tirade, and Mother and Father looked so proud. I honestly don't get it._

_Anyway, I'm back now, and I'm really eager to leave this blasted house and get away from Mother—she's trying to restart our French lessons, because I seem to have forgotten everything I ever learned about the dratted language. All the ets and uns... Just can't keep it straight in my head. How far are you on Merrythought's Grindylow essay? I think I got all of the points down, but I've only got a foot of parchment and she said she wanted two._

_How has your summer been? I bet it's been better than mine._

_Looking forward to your letter,_

_Alphard Black_

_The only sane one in the family_

Hermione read the letter and laughed. She found it hard to believe that Alphard was actually a Slytherin, for his style of writing was so different from that of Lyla and Lucas, whose letters were distant and polite, instead of open and excited. She remembered that he and Sirius got along, and wondered if the hat had wanted to put him in Gryffindor. But of course, she did not ask. Slytherins are more subtle than that, and Hermione had become a Slytherin, after all.

She wrote back immediately, assuring him that her summer had been infinitely boring, and that she was looking forward to school starting, then flew with Ajax to Grimmauld Place where she saw Lucretia chasing Alphard up the stairs, wand in hand, jinxes flying, and chortled as she saw him hit with a jelly legs jinx and fall down the stairs, bouncing as he went, before sitting up, unharmed at the bottom, scowling. It was times like this when she missed Harry and Ron the most, and she spent hours talking to them when she returned to Windings.

Talking to the shades of her friends and family had become less and less fulfilling. She supposed it was part of not being alive, but it was like talking to the paintings in Hogwarts: they were always the same. Ron was always just as immature as ever, no matter whether he appeared as an eleven year old or the eighteen year old he was when he died. Harry sometimes showed up as being much older, having 'lived' a fantasy where he had three children with Ginny and become Head Auror at the Ministry of Magic, but inside, he was always the same—a boy playing at being a man. It had become hard for Hermione to watch, as she grew and changed and they did not, and she called on them less and less frequently.

She was halfway through the summer holidays when she remembered Tom Riddle. She was shocked at having forgotten him, and felt a sting of shame. "Isn't that the whole reason you're here, Hermione?" she asked herself. "You wanted to change him, to watch him and if need be, end him before he can end the lives of so many others."

Hermione made her way up the stone steps, and knocked on the door. She noticed how the other children gave it a wide berth, just as they did for her room at Windings and frowned. Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies, she thought ruefully, as she knocked. "Tom?" she called, and the door swung open.

He's grown, Hermione noted, looking him up and down.

"Hermione," Tom said, surprise flitting across his face before vanishing, replaced by a polite mask of indifference. "What can I do for you?" He held the door open wider, and gestured for her to come into his room. Hermione could feel the difference in the way he treated her. His mask was on, and he was playing the part of innocent orphan boy, even in private. Even with her.

"I was in the neighbourhood," she lied, "And I thought I'd stop by. My summer's been very dull so far. Yours?"

Tom eyed her speculatively. "It's been alright," he said, closing the door and sitting on the bed. Hermione took the seat in front of his desk. "I've been going to Diagon Alley a lot," he admitted, pointing at a stack of books on his desk. Hexes and Curses: A compendium of the most effective ways to put down an enemy sat on the top of the stack.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Light reading?" She joked. Tom laughed.

"Quite. I actually think you'd enjoy that book. It has a few of the spells I've seen you use before—depulso, bat bogeys. Very useful. If only we could do magic outside school…" He said wistfully. Hermione nodded.

"I know Purebloods can," she told him, watching him carefully. He scowled.

"Of course they can. What can't the precious purebloods do?" He snapped.

Did he just insult purebloods? Hermione wondered, giddily. "Well, pureblood or not, we beat them all in exams last year," she pointed out. Tom nodded.

"I'm looking forward to classes. I'm sure you understand. There's just nothing here," he gestured at the room. "There's nothing to do but read and write and wander around London."

"I feel the same!" Hermione exclaimed. "I can't wait for school to start again. I read this one book on long-term charms and how you have to tie the charm into the object instead of the will of the caster—"

"I think I saw that too!" Tom said, his blank mask replaced with excitement. "Was that the "Charm your way to History" by Charis Crouch? I think it should be quite simple if you can manage to put the intent on the object performing the desired task, rather than having the task performed. Intent is a crucial part of magic, after all."

Hermione nodded, eyes gleaming with the pleasure of having someone of an equal intellectual footing to talk to. "I think you're right, but I also think it'd be hard to figure out just how much power is needed for the charm to run continuously. Obviously it'd have to somehow be connected to another power source. I know Crouch suggests having it be activated by certain stimulus—like the Shield Charm on a wall that activates when a spell is cast at it by drawing energy from the spell—but what if you tied it into something like solar power?" She asked. Tom cocked his head thoughtfully, and their discussion lasted for hours afterwards.

When Mrs. Cole rapped on the door to inform Tom that dinner was ready, they both started. The time had flown, and it was already dark outside. Hermione jumped up. Ms Hastings would have her head.

"I've nothing to do tomorrow," Tom said as Hermione made to leave. "We could go to Diagon Alley," he said, almost hopefully. Hermione smiled at him.

"I'd love to. I'll meet you at the Leaky Cauldron at noon." Tom nodded, and Hermione rushed out of Wool's Orphanage. When she had found a secluded alleyway, she transformed into Pixie, and began soaring towards Windings. Hopefully Hastings hadn't noticed she was gone yet. Maybe she could say she'd been… she wasn't sure. She'd come up with an excuse later. As she glided into to the window of her room, she saw the handle of the door turning. Quickly, she transformed back into Hermione Granger, seizing Crookshanks from his position on her bed and tossing him into the corner of the room that she'd charmed last year with a Notice-Me-Not charm.

Ms. Hasting's plum face appeared in the crack of the door. "Why on earth did you skip supper?" She snapped. Thank goodness for small mercies, she doesn't know I've been gone.

Hermione groaned loudly, "I'm not feeling well, Ms. Hastings. I think I'm ill. I thought I should stay in bed and rest, and hopefully I'll get better tomorrow." She said, adding a few groans at the end of her explanation. Ms Hastings eyed her suspiciously, but said nothing, closing the door, and stalking away.

"That was close," Hermione breathed to Crookshanks, who was glaring at her from his corner. "Oh don't look at me like that, you know she doesn't like pets. I'm sorry for throwing you, but you'd have been seen otherwise!" Crookshanks pointedly turned his back on her, and began grooming himself.

Hermione fell back onto her bed with a deep sigh, and soon after, fell asleep.

The next day, Hermione woke early. It was a Friday, which was her cleaning day. She dusted and swept and mopped and wiped until her room was scrubbed clean and ordered tidily, before showering and heading out to Diagon Alley.

It was extremely hot. By the time she reached the Leaky Cauldron, her skirt was sticking to the back of her legs, and she was in desperate need of a glass of water. She saw Tom sitting at a table, and headed over to him.

"It's really, really hot," she complained, fanning herself, as Tom the bartender came over with a glass of water. "Thanks," she said, and he smiled at her. Tom Riddle eyed the other Tom with dislike. "What?" Hermione asked as she sipped the cool liquid.

"Nothing," Tom said, mouth twisted in displeasure. Hermione looked at him, waiting. "I just… There's a lot of Tom's," he said, huffing. Hermione considered this for a moment.

"But there aren't very many Tom Marvolos," she pointed out. Tom rolled his eyes. "Do you not like the name Tom?" she asked, curious. Tom ignored the question.

"I thought we could go to Tomes and Scrolls first, then Flourish and Blotts," he said, watching as Hermione drained her glass. Hermione nodded, hopping up from her seat.

And that was how Hermione spent the rest of her summer. She owled (literally) her friends regularly, and even began writing to Druella Rosier and Georgia Parkinson. She visited Alphard's house once, but had been met with scorn and frosty dislike by his parents and had not returned. When she wasn't writing letters or reading books, or delivering said letters, she'd often find her way to Wool's and she and Tom would head to Diagon Alley together, or sit in his room and talk about the books they had read.

When the owl came bearing her list of school supplies, Hermione nearly danced with glee. FINALLY! She wanted to scream, I'll be back at Hogwarts soon! She'd never understood just how much Harry had loved his school until this year, and she honestly did not know how he could bear going back to the Dursley's year after year. She and Tom went to Diagon Alley the very next day to purchase their school supplies, and they each spent the next two weeks reading and memorizing every single textbook.

On the day of September first, Hermione slept in. At nine thirty, she got up, brushed her teeth, got dressed, took the mouse Crookshanks had been playing with and tossed it out of the window, put the kneazle-cat in question in his carrier, and left Windings behind for the next nine months without a second glance.

**Author's Note: I'd like to thank ****rpeh**** for being my first ever beta! Also, I'm apologizing in advance because school just started up for me again, so I updates might be somewhat sporadic for a while... Thanks for reading & please review! **


	7. Chapter 7

The familiar, scarlet steam engine was waiting for her, gleaming in the mid-morning sun. As Hermione toted Crookshanks' carrier and her mini trunk, ever thankful for the foresight she'd shown a year earlier when she'd charmed it, she scanned the platform for familiar faces. Grimacing, she saw the Parkinson clan—Georgia, with her dark hair elegantly pinned up in some crazy new fashion, had the talent to annoy Hermione without even speaking a word, a trait that was very inconvenient, considering that she was one of the two other girls in her year in Slytherin. Hermione decided to pretend that she hadn't seen the pureblood girl and her family, and craned her neck to see over the crowd. Unfortunately, the platform was full of families, and short as she was, Hermione was not able to see a familiar face. Shrugging, she made her way onto the train, taking the first empty compartment and releasing Crookshanks into it, taking out Pride and Prejudice, and settling down for a relaxing read.

She was just getting to the bit about the Netherfield ball when the door to the compartment slid open. Hermione glanced up to see Lucas Rosier grinning at her. "Lucas!" she cried, springing up, smiling. Lucas was lanky and tall, his brown hair tied back into a low ponytail, grey eyes shrewd and cunning.

"Hermione," he said, dragging his trunk into the compartment, and hoisting it onto the luggage rack. "It's good to see you. Where's your owl?" He asked, seating himself opposite her. Hermione had kept in touch with all her school friends over the summer, and had found Lucas to be a particularly stimulating pen pal.

"I decided to let her fly to Hogwarts," Hermione lied. "Where's Lyla and Druella?" she queried.

"They're around," Lucas said, waving his hand vaguely. "I think Lyla wanted to find Georgia, and Druella was dead set on waiting for the Blacks—another set of twins this year, Cassiopeia and Cedrella, and Druella's rather close to both of them. Honestly, the number of Blacks is insane." Lucas explained, taking a chocolate frog from his pocket and opening it.

"Speaking of Blacks, did you see Alphard?" Hermione asked curiously. Lucas made a face.

"No, but I'm pretty sure I heard Lucretia and Walburga going at each other before I got on the train. Glad I got away before Druella could drag me over there to find her friends." Lucas glanced over at Hermione curiously. "What about you? Where are your relatives?" Hermione shrugged non-committally. She had not bandied around the fact that she lived in a muggle orphanage—in fact, she was pretty sure that Tom was the only one who knew about it—knowing that to admit such a thing would kill any chance she had at becoming a respected figure in Slytherin house. Lucas seemed to know not to pry, and opened another chocolate frog.

It was not long after that the compartment door slid open once again, and a Hermione looked up into the faces of Georgia Parkinson and Lyla Rosier.

"Hello, Hermione," Lyla and Georgia greeted cordially.

"Hello, Lyla, Georgia," Hermione said, inviting them in with a tilt of her head.

"You look well," Georgia observed. "Did you do something with your hair?" She asked, leaning forward and pinching a curl between two fingers. "It seems… lighter."

Hermione laughed. "Sun exposure! I was out a lot over the summer. I even got to play a game of Quidditch with Drew Davies and a few other friends."

Georgia recoiled in shock. "Quidditch? My goodness Hermione, it's like you grew up in a barn. Girls do not play Quidditch. At least, not proper pureblood girls," Georgia sniffed. Hermione raised her eyebrows. Lyla and Lucas had watched this conversation with interest, and upon Georgia's not-so-subtle insult, both leaned forward in anticipation of Hermione's reaction. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, Georgia, one would've thought that you of all people would remember what happened to Lyndon last year when he decided to call my magical inheritance into question," she said stiffly. "After all, his mother is your aunt, is she not? Madrona Avery, I believe?" Georgia stiffened, before nodding curtly, and lapsing into sullen silence, as the train began to pull away from the station.

A few moments later, the compartment door slid open yet again, to reveal two boys, both tall for their ages. "Alphard!" Hermione exclaimed, leaping to her feet and embracing him. Alphard Black was one of Hermione's best friends. With his easygoing attitude, he was nothing like the other Slytherins Hermione was surrounded by, and while he could not compete with Hermione's years of experience, he was no dullard, and did well in his classes. Alphard returned the hug.

"Where's the harpy and co. then?" Lucas asked, raising an eyebrow interestedly. "Walburga and Lucretia are in the next carriage with Nott and Avery. Also, I spotted Druella with Cassie, Cedrella, Malfoy and Macmillan, and they seemed fine, if you wanted to know." Lucas nodded in thanks, and Hermione turned to the second boy.

Tom Riddle nodded in acknowledgment. "Long time no see," Hermione joked, and she thought she saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

"Indeed," he agreed, his face blank. It had, of course, been only a few days since they had last seen each other, after making one last trip to Tomes and Scrolls in Diagon Alley, where Hermione had pointedly ignored how Tom kept picking out books like, Are You Actually A Pureblood?, A Complete Genealogy of British Wizards, and Bloodlines A-Z. Hermione sat back down, leaving space for Alphard next to her, as Tom sat next to Lyla.

"Goodness, you can't believe how relieved I am to finally be away from Burga," Alphard complained, sliding down in his chair until he was in serious danger of sliding off it and onto the floor. "Honestly, she and Lucretia fight so much, I cannot understand how their dormitory is still intact. If Mother ever makes us take a full family vacation, I think I might off myself."

Lyla snorted. "Try being holed up with this one all summer long," she jerked her chin towards Lucas. "Quidditch this, Quidditch that, honestly," she sighed.

"Thinking of trying out for the team then?" Alphard said excitedly. Hermione and Tom shared similarly exasperated expressions. Neither of them were particularly fond of the sport. Hermione remembered how Tom had been just as bad as she was during their first flying lesson, and repressed a grin. Perfect Tom Riddle wasn't quite so perfect after all.

"Did you see that play by Puddlemere? The Tornados never stood a chance," Alphard continued excitedly. "D'you follow Quidditch, 'Mione? I never hear you talk about it," he said, glancing over at her, brow furrowed.

Georgia decided that this would be an appropriate time to enter the conversation. "Didn't you hear, Alphard? Hermione went to play Quidditch over the summer with Drew Davies," she said sweetly. "Quidditch! I was just saying that she should be careful—pureblood girls don't participate in such uncouth, brutish activit-"

"You play Quidditch, Hermione?" Alphard said, eyes wide. Even Tom was looking at her with a sort of polite interest on his face. Hermione flushed.

"It was just a friendly hangout," she said. "I'm rubbish on a broom, honestly. Don't you remember last year's flying lessons?" Alphard seemed to consider this, nodded, and turned back to Lucas. Georgia pouted, upset that she had failed to get a rise out of either Alphard or Hermione, and pulled out a copy of Witch Weekly that Lyla kept trying to read over her shoulder.

Tom looked over at Hermione, and his mouth twitched with irritation. He had been too late to be able to take the seat opposite Hermione, next to the window, and was, instead, sitting as far away from her as possible, right next to the door. It was not at all conducive for conversation. Brushing away this irritation, he pulled out The Standard Book of Spells Book 4, and began reading.

Time always passed quickly on the express, although this probably had something to do with Hermione's propensity to sleep in moving vehicles like trains. A game of wizard's chess, a quick trip to the bathroom to change, and a nap later, Hermione could tell that they were drawing nearer to Hogwarts. Scooping up Crookshanks and stuffing the unwilling kneazle-cat back into his carrier, she looked over at Tom and remembered, with a start, that he was now the owner of Nagini, whom she could not see hide nor scale of. She resolved to ask about it later.

As the second years trudged through Hogsmeade to the gates of Hogwarts where the thestral-drawn carriages waited, Hermione discreetly manoeuvred herself next to Tom. "Hey you," she said, grinning at him.

He gave her a half smile. "What?"

"Where's Nagini?" she asked, curious.

Tom smirked. "You remember the transport box she came in? Turns out those are expandable. I got the Emporium owner to do it for me over summer, so she's happily resting in my trunk."

Hermone nodded. "How's she doing?" she asked, when Tom seemed content to walk in silence.

"Pretty well, I think. She's grown a lot—she's about two feet now. I'm actually not sure what I'll do when she get's bigger. It'll be hard to keep her in Hogwarts without certain staff members finding out," Tom said, expression hardening. "But I'll figure something out," he said, confidently, as they reached the gates.

Hermione eyed the thestrals hitched to the carriages. They seemed to sense her presence too, for every single one of them turned their heads toward her, looking at her with blank, white eyes. She shivered. Sometimes the whole Master of Death thing creeped her out.

"Hermione? What are you standing around for?" Lucas said impatiently, reaching out a hand to help her into the carriage.

"Nothing," she said, as the carriages rolled onward.

"I wonder how they move," Lyla mused to herself.

"I think it's much better than those awful boats," Georgia said, crossing her ankles delicately. "Much more elegant," she continued. Hermione snorted.

As the returning students streamed into the Great Hall to take their places, Hermione caught sight of her other friends. Drew, Septimus and Augusta all sat facing the Slytherin table, and waved at her, as they sat down. Selene Summers and her friend Leonora Cattermole both smiled at her as they sat down at the Ravenclaw table. Hermione waved at them.

"I'm bloody hungry," Alphard huffed from across her, as they seated themselves at the Slytherin table. "I hope the Sorting doesn't take too long," he groaned, leaning forward onto the table. Tom had claimed the seat next to Hermione, and smirked

"Surely you're not hungry already, Alphard," he said. "You and Lucas probably ate your weight in chocolate frogs and cauldron cakes on the train today," he said, his tone friendly and joking. And completely contrived, Hermione thought.

Alphard grumbled under his breath. "I'm a growing boy, Tom," he moaned, rubbing his stomach sadly. "I have to eat!"

"Oh hush up you two," said a fourth year who Hermione was pretty sure was called Tiberius Cornfoot. "The Sorting's about to start."

Indeed, the door to the Great Hall had opened, and Professor Merrythought had marched in, leading the first years.

The sorting itself was standard fare. There weren't any surprises. The Blacks, of course, went to Slytherin, along with Abraxas Malfoy, Druella Rosier, Melania Macmillan and Pollux Lestrange. Ravenclaw gained six boys and two girls, Hufflepuff three boys and five girls, and Gryffindor four boys and three girls. Hermione couldn't be bothered to remember all their names, but she noticed Tom paying careful attention to each and every one of them. When she asked, he responded mysteriously,

"It's always best to know what cards are in the deck," and helped himself to the mashed potato that had appeared on the gleaming golden plates before him.

Hermione rolled her eyes at this cryptic statement, which caused Georgia to whisper loudly to Ophelia Robbins, a third year, that, "You can always tell the worth of a woman by the way she carries herself." Hermione, of course, ignored her.

Later that night, after unpacking and taking a nice, hot shower, Hermione lay contentedly in her bed, watching Crookshanks circle at her feet, before curling into a ball. Turning to draw the curtains around her four poster, she hissed in surprise, having come face to face with a young boy. "Hello, Master," Death said, hopping onto the bed, and sitting down, legs crossed.

"Death, could you please wear the same face whenever you come to visit? This is getting ridiculous. I don't even know who you're supposed to be any more." Hermione said in irritation, twitching the curtains closed and applying a silencing charm to them.

Death's form shimmered for a moment, and suddenly, a teenager with jet black hair and bright green eyes was sitting on her bed. "Harry? Really?" she asked, incredulous.

Death shrugged. "He was my last master, and are you not fond of him?"

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. "Okay, you know what? That's fine. What are you here for, Death?" Death pouted, before his form began to change once more, becoming that of a teenage girl with dark hair and clear, grey eyes. "Better," Hermione allowed. "But what do you want?"

Death flipped her hair over her shoulder. "You mean I can't just stop by to visit my favorite Master?" she whined, looking up at Hermione through thick lashes. Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. "You're right though," Death continued, "I've come to inform you that a number of your friends and family have expressed a desire to be reborn. As Master of Death, it is your prerogative to allow or disallow this."

Hermione's jaw went slack with shock. "Reborn? What?" she screeched shrilly. Death rolled her eyes. "Yes, well as I'm sure you know, it gets quite dull in the afterlife. There's only so many times you can make up a new, perfect life for yourself. It gets old after a while. Normally, the souls just move on by themselves, but since you've been so attached to them, and summon many of your friends and family quite regularly, they've been stuck. And now Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley and those absolute terrors—Fred and George—have expressed to me that they would like their souls to be put back into rotation. I've actually already lined up a potential match for those two—Fabian and Gideon Prewett—I suppose you'll meet them in a decade or so. Anyway, I thought I'd come by and tell you."

Hermione's brain was totally blank.

"I really can't deal with this right now," she said, voice wavering. "I literally have no idea what I'm supposed to do."

Death flapped a red-nailed hand at her. "Don't fret, Master," she said. "You can take as long as you want. Time means nothing to Death. Perhaps you should rest."

Death reached out and placed a pale finger on Hermione's forehead, and she fell back against the pillows, unconscious. Death looked down at Hermione, head cocked to one side. "At least you don't snore," she commented, before fading into the shadows.

The next morning, Hermione woke up, and immediately recalled her conversation with Death. Groaning, she curled up into a ball, and hugged her pillow, trying and failing not to think about what Death had said.

Harry wanted to be reborn. And so did Ginny. And Fred and George. But if they were reborn, then would she still be able to talk to them? Would they remember her?

Hermione rubbed her wrist, more out of habit than anything else, fingertips brushing over the symbol of the Deathly Hallows that had been branded into her wrist, the silvery scar standing out against her skin. She did not notice the shade of her best friend materializing behind her, and jumped when his fingers began to rub soothing circles on her back.

"It's alright, 'Mione," Harry Potter said, looking at her with eyes that seemed far wiser than they should be. "Even if we won't know you, you'll always be able to find us again." Hermione bit back a sob, turning to face him, throwing her arms around his neck. He was eighteen again, the same age he had been when he died, hair sticking up in all directions, green eyes framed by silver glasses and a sad smile playing on his lips.

"Why can't you stay?" Hermione whispered into his shoulder, knowing how selfish she was being, but finding that she was not able to care.

"It's not supposed to be like this, 'Mione. The dead have no business in the land of the living. It is only your power over death that lets us speak at all. It's time for me and Gin to move on. Sirius did ages ago—you're going to love this- he's Alphard Black now." Harry said quietly into her ear.

Hermione pulled back, brown eyes wide with shock. Harry laughed lightly. "I—what? But Sirius hasn't even been born yet!" She said, confused and bewildered.

"Time doesn't have much bearing to Death, 'Mione, and souls are just as timeless. I told you, time works differently for us, didn't I? It's complicated and I don't think I can explain it right—especially the bit about parallel dimensions and the souls of people here. D'you know that a bit of my soul is still waiting to be put into Harry Potter when he's born here? And different versions of me exist in different versions of the Afterlife. I haven't found any though. But I suppose I'm getting off topic. The point is, it's the natural way of things. We won't go for a while, but we want to be able to leave and come back to the real world when it's time."

Hermione shook her head in denial. "But if you've gone I won't be able to talk to you," she insisted, hearing the whine in her voice and hating herself for it. "You promised! Remember? "I'll be waiting for you". You _promised _me, Harry."

"Oh Hermione," Harry sighed. "You don't need us anymore. Admit it, you've noticed how we don't change. You're making new friends, friends who can grow and change and challenge you. I'll be back," Harry said patiently. "Sooner than you know it—time-"

"Works differently, I know," Hermione said glumly, wiping at the tears that were dripping off her chin.

"Fine. Go then," she said, schooling her face into one of apathy and indifference. "Sign yourself up for rebirth or whatever it is you have to do," she turned away from him, eyes stinging. She felt him place a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "Thank you, Hermione," he whispered, as she rubbed her wrist roughly, before fading away.

Hermione scratched at the sign of the hallows, nails digging in and tearing at the skin. _I NEVER WANTED THIS_, she wanted to scream, _I NEVER_ _ASKED FOR THIS. I JUST WANTED PEACE_. She cried quietly, fist stuffed in her mouth to stop her from making a sound, as she resigned herself to the loss of four of her friends.

**A/N: Thanks again to ****rpeh**** for beta-ing! This wasn't my favorite chapter to write, but I suppose fillers are just a part of life. Also, thanks to everyone who left a review! I love reading them and constructive criticism is always appreciated :) **


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione was late to breakfast. When she walked over to the Slytherin table, she couldn't help but gaze at Alphard a little longer than she looked at anyone else. _He was Sirius_, She thought to herself. _And now he doesn't even remember._ She sat down in the space Tom had created for her.

"You look dreadful," Tom said bluntly. Lyla giggled, and nodded. "You do," she agreed. Hermione scowled at them. "I didn't sleep well," she snapped, reaching for some toast and spreading marmalade over it as angrily as one can spread marmalade over toast. Tom looked carefully at her, and she knew he saw the puffiness of her eyes, the redness of her nose. Quietly, too quietly for anyone to hear, he asked, "Were you crying?" Hermione glared at him, and stabbed her knife into the marmalade jar, biting down into her toast savagely. Tom arched an eyebrow at this behaviour, waiting patiently for her to finish chewing.

"I don't see how it's any of your business," she snapped back, rudely. Tom turned back to his breakfast, shrugging. "I thought we were friends," he said, sounding sad. "Best friends," he added, sniffing dramatically, as he slowly cut up a sausage.

Hermione glared at him for a moment longer, inwardly snorting at his theatrics, before sighing deeply. _Snapping at everyone won't help anything_, she chastised herself. "Of course we're friends Tom. I'm sorry. I just had a bad dream, but I'm fine now." She said, reaching out to touch his arm reassuringly. He flinched, reminding Hermione of Harry and how he hated to be touched too—_no don't think of Harry right now_,- but turned and smiled at her dazzlingly. It wasn't one of the Slytherin smirks that Hermione found herself wearing far too often for her liking. It was a genuine smile that lit up his face, and Hermione found herself smiling back at him.

"Oy, you two, what are you grinning about? You look like a pair of clowns!" Alphard Black complained, turning away from Adrian Pemberly, a fourth year. "And what kind of manners are you displaying, Ms. Granger? No hello for your favourite Black? No good morning? Maybe Georgia was right about you," He stuck his nose up into the air haughtily, before looking over to her and giving her a wink." Hermione laughed.

"Oh, I've got your schedule by the way", continued Alphard. "We've got Potions with the Gryffindors—don't pull that face, Lucas—Astronomy with the Hufflepuffs-that's a first, we didn't have any classes with them last year did we?—Herbology with the Ravenclaws—wow all four houses covered—oh blimey, we've got Defence with the Gryffindors again. Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws, Charms with the Ravenclaws, and—blimey-History of Magic with the Hufflepuffs and the Gryffindors."

"Kill me now," Lucas exclaimed dramatically, dragging a hand across his forehead and falling forward onto the table, eyes closed and tongue sticking out. Alphard chortled. "It's not like we're jumping up and down about it either," came Septimus Weasley's voice from behind Hermione. She turned, arms outstretched in greeting, and was quickly gathered into a hug. "How've you been?" she asked, looking around for Drew and Augusta. "They're still eating," Septimus replied, having guessed who she was looking for. "I just thought I'd come by and say hello, seeing as we didn't see each other on the train yesterday."

"Well you've said it, so maybe you can go back to your own table now," Tom said, his voice polite but eyes glinting with irritation. Septimus ignored him.

"Come sit with us during History of Magic—Binns'll never notice if we're talking, especially if we sit in the back!" Hermione opened her mouth to protest that they really should pay attention, when Septimus turned, saw another red haired boy—Quintus, his older brother—gesturing for him to return to the Gryffindor table.

"Gotta go, Hermione. See ya later!" He said cheerfully, before heading back to the Gryffindor table.

"Honestly, Hermione, your friend should know better than to come to our table during breakfast," Lyla said, frowning. "I'm sure there's a rule about it."

Hermione suppressed her irritation. Her Slytherin friends had never liked her Gryffindor ones and vice versa, and it was very annoying to have to keep defending them from each other.

"There isn't," Hermione said shortly, grabbing her schedule from beside Tom, who looked unusually sour—no doubt he disapproved of Septimus and the others as well. "Double Charms first. I'm heading back to the Common Room to get my stuff. Anyone coming?"

Alphard and Tom both pushed their plates away from them and followed her out of the great hall.

"I wonder when Quidditch tryouts are," Alphard mused, running his fingers carefully through his hair.

"Quit fussing, you're just making it messy," Hermione scolded, slapping his hand, and reaching up to pat it back into place.

"Thanks, 'Mione," he said, grinning.

Hermione felt her smile slip slightly. "When did you start calling me that?" She asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Alphard looked confused for a moment, before shrugging. "Just now I guess. Fits, doesn't it? And it's easier to say than Her-my-own-ee," he teased, eyes glinting with mirth.

"I prefer Hermione," Tom said from the other side of Hermione. "It's more… unusual."

Hermione gave a non-committal hum before frowning at the blank wall in front of them. "What was the password again? Devil's Snare. Honestly, why they pick such ridiculously easy passwords, I have no idea." She stalked into the common room, her brown curls swinging.

"It's probably because people like you wouldn't be able to get into the common room otherwise," came a sneering voice from one of the high backed chairs in front of the fire.

Hermione was not surprised at the antagonism. She'd been expecting to have to participate in some kind of power play with one of the older students. As the other Slytherins all believed her and Tom to be, at most, half-bloods, they often made biting remarks towards her. She'd shut them down last year by publicly embarrassing Avery, who'd been most vocal about his belief in her inferiority, but she supposed a few of them had grown complacent and forgetful over the summer.

_You picked a bad day to mess with me_, she thought grimly, turning to face Darin Mulciber and Nestor Nott. "By people like me, do you mean people with more than half a brain?" Hermione asked sweetly. Nestor's face darkened, and he made to step forward, but Darin held him back, lips twitching in cold amusement.

"Piss off, Mulciber," Alphard snapped, trying to drag Hermione over to the entrance to the girl's dormitory.

"Shut up Black. I'm curious, what does mummy think about you fraternizing with lowlifes? Does she know?" Mulciber said, smirking widely.

Alphard rolled his eyes. "Of course she does, you idiot. What, do you think Walburga's blind and dumb? She'd love to get me in trouble. But my mother hasn't got a problem with me being friends with the top students in the year, and if even she doesn't I don't see why you would. Now shut up and stop bothering us."

Next to her, Tom moved slightly, and she knew he had his wand out. His face however, betrayed nothing. If she didn't know better, she would have thought the polite expression he wore was completely sincere. "Is there something you wanted, gentlemen?" He said in such a saccharine sweet tone, that Hermione almost laughed.

Nott and Mulciber looked slightly off balance for a moment, but recovered quickly.

"Did we ask you, Riddle," Nott spat.

Tom raised an eyebrow. "How rude. _Incarcerous_." With a lazy flick of his wand, Tom had bound Nott's arms and legs together. "_Petrificus Totalus," _Tom continued, waving his wand. Nott wobbled unsteadily for a moment, before toppling to the ground, cursing.

Mulciber no longer looked amused. "Think you're such hot stuff, do you? A couple of half-bloods sullying the noble house of Slytherin? _Furnuculus! Relashio!_" he said, wand aimed at Tom, who dodged both spells with ease. Alphard wasn't so lucky. Mulciber's poorly aimed relashio sent him flying backwards and into the wall. He slid to the floor with a groan, and did not get up.

"That is it," Hermione said coldly, stalking forward.

_Expelliarmus_, she thought, flicking her wand at Mulciber, sending his wand flying through the air to land at her feet. "I am sick and tired of you and your friends trying to pull this utterly ridiculous superiority act every time you come back from a holiday. I have had an awful morning and I am not in the mood for this." She had advanced upon Mulciber and jabbed him in the chest painfully. He glared down at her. With a few waves of her wand he joined Nott on the floor. However, unlike Nestor, Darin Mulciber was not tied up. No, Darin Mulciber was no longer Darin Mulciber. He now resembled a large, five foot purple slug with orange polka dots dotting it, and a large tuft of pink fur running down its back.

Hermione stepped back and analyzed her handiwork.

"I like it," Tom offered from behind her.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, so do I. Let's see if Alphard's alright and go get our things, shall we?"

Tom nodded. "Maybe one extra little touch," he suggested, before conjuring a thin line of salt in a ring around the two Slytherins. Tom nodded, satisfied, eyes glinting with satisfaction and vindictive glee. Hermione was impressed—conjuring was very advanced magic, at least fifth year material, and Tom was doing it seemingly without even breaking a sweat. However, she said nothing, heading towards where Alphard lay crumpled on the ground.

"_Ennervate_," she intoned, pointing her wand at Alphard, who blinked slowly, and sat up. "Ugh, my head hurts," he said, rubbing at it with a wince.

"Do you want to go up and see Madam de Croix?" Hermione asked. Alphard shook his head, opening his mouth to reply, when the door to the common room opened and several students came in to pick up their things.

Upon catching sight of Nestor bound tightly and laying on the floor, and the large purple slug, conversation ceased. "Someone fetch Professor Slughorn!" a girl shouted. Hermione groaned.

"Quick, let's get our books and stuff, and try and get out before Sluggy gets here," Alphard suggested. Hermione sprinted to her dormitory and grabbed her backpack, shoving her charms book, transfiguration book and some parchment in, before rushing out into the common room to meet Tom and Alphard who were waiting for her. Just as they were slipping through the throng of students to get out of the common room, however, they heard Slughorn's familiar voice booming out from the corridor.

"What's going on?" Slughorn asked.

"Nott and someone else have been cursed professor, by a couple of second years—they're right there, look! Black, Granger and that Riddle boy," the same female voice from before replied. Hermione swore to herself to find out who it was and put itching powder in her robes.

"Tom? Hermione? Would you care to explain what's going on?" Slughorn said, making his way over to them.

Hermione opened her mouth to explain, but Tom beat her to it.

His face the very picture of remorse, his eyes huge and pleading, Tom said, "Please, Professor, I didn't mean for it to happen. It's just—Nestor and Darin were insulting Hermione, sir, and she was very upset, and I suppose I just lost control when they hexed Alphard. I only wanted to protect my friend. I'm very sorry sir, I know what I did was wrong, and I'll gladly submit to whatever punishment you think is appropriate for me to show my regret for my actions." Tom's eyes were wet with unshed tears as he gazed at the potions professor, and his lower lip trembled slightly. His voice however, was smooth and unwavering, washing over the listeners like honey.

_He is the best actor I have ever met_, thought Hermione dazedly. _He could sell anything. Amazing._

Professor Slughorn blinked owlishly at the young boy before him. "Nonsense, Tom, I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding. Nothing a quick trip up to the infirmary won't fix. You there," He gestured to one of the onlookers. "Kindly levitate Mr. Mulciber to the Hospital Wing. Finite!" The ropes around Nott's body vanished, and he got to his feet, scowling. "Run along then," Slughorn said genially to the three young Slytherins, who nodded, and scampered out of the common room.

"Tom, you were brilliant!" Alphard exclaimed after they were far enough away from the common room to not be overheard.

A small smile ghosted around Tom's mouth. "Of course," he said, inclining his head in acceptance. Hermione was not pleased at how easily Tom had slipped into the role of innocent and remorseful orphan boy, and said nothing, except to ask if Alphard's head still hurt.

"Nah, I'm fine. C'mon, let's go to Charms. I want to nab the best seats in the middle," he responded, and they headed up to the Charms classroom.

**A/N: As always, thanks to rpeh for being my beta and helping me "brit pick" (who knew Britons don't eat waffles?!) There was some trouble with random html stuff showing up with everything else- sorry about that, I'm not sure why that happened (I blame the Great Firewall) but it's fixed now! Hope you enjoy the chapter. As always, please review! **


	9. Chapter 9

Charms passed uneventfully. They had, much to Alphard's satisfaction, managed to get the seats in the middle. "I hate having to lean over to see what we're supposed to be doing," he had explained to Hermione.

Professor Quigly, a tall thin wizard with dirty blond hair had started teaching them basic colour changing charms, which all three of them had gotten very quickly, earning twenty points for Slytherin, much to the irritation of a few Ravenclaws.

"How do they _always_ get it first?" Hermione'd heard Honoria Clearwater complaining from the other side of the room. "It's always Tom Riddle and that Granger girl. Seriously what do they do at night? Practice spells?" Hermione had stifled a laugh at the accuracy of Clearwater's statement, and out of the corner of her eye, she'd seen Tom smirk slightly in satisfaction.

After double charms was transfiguration.

Hermione wasn't quite sure how to feel about transfiguration. While she loved the class, Dumbledore was extremely obvious in his distrust of both her and Tom Riddle. While she had managed to reduce his dislike of her somewhat, through helping other students outside of classes with their homework, and openly mingling with other houses, Tom still remained under close scrutiny.

Upon entering the transfiguration classroom, she was certain that news of that morning's… incident… had been relayed back to Dumbledore, for as he greeted each student that filed into his classroom with, "I trust you had a good summer," but when he reached Tom and Hermione, he eyed them coolly, before instructing them to "Please take a seat at the front of the class,".

Tom scowled. "Prejudiced old coot," he snarled under his breath. Hermione elbowed him in the stomach. "Don't say that," she hissed angrily as they took their seats at the very front of the class, Lyla and Georgia taking the seats behind them.

"He does seem to dislike you two quite vehemently," Lyla observed, face neutral. "Why is that, do you think?" she asked Hermione pointedly.

Hermione gestured helplessly with her hand. "I have no idea," she lied. She knew perfectly well that she had displayed slightly too much knowledge of the magical world when he'd come to visit, and that her friendship with Tom, who had attracted attention for being a bully and a thief, had not helped the situation. Lyla looked politely incredulous. "How peculiar," Georgia interrupted. "But I'm sure it'll pass. You two are the best in the class, after all."

Hermione pasted on a smile, and nodded her thanks at Georgia. She didn't hate the girl, but her habit of swinging from antagonistic to helpful and supportive, combined with her vain and supercilious demeanour got on her nerves.

"I'm sure if you wanted to, you'd do very well in transfiguration," Tom said smoothly, joining the conversation. "Last year you managed to transfigure your beetle into a bell before half the class did, remember?" His effortless flattery was eagerly absorbed by Georgia. "I suppose," she said giggling, "But it's just so hard to find the time. There are so many other fun things to do, aren't there,"

Hermione narrowed her eyes, perfectly aware of three things: Firstly, that Georgia's transfiguration success last year had been a complete fluke. Secondly, that by "other fun things to do", Georgia meant reading Witch Weekly, giggling over boys (from what Hermione had gathered, she found fifth year Damocles Belby from Ravenclaw to be rather attractive) and attempting to put on makeup (Hermione thought that half the time, Georgia only succeeded in making herself look like a clown). Finally, she knew that Tom was completely aware of the previous two facts, and was simply flattering Georgia because she came from a rich, pureblooded family and he felt that "such connections could come in useful, Hermione."

Grinding her teeth, she turned back to the front of the class, where Dumbledore had just finished greeting Ignatius Prewitt, and was now shutting the door.

"Today we will do a quick review of last year's material," he said, blue eyes twinkling, his face jovial. "Can anyone tell me what we covered in first year?"

Hermione and Tom both put their hands up, as did Lyla and Honoria Clearwater.

"Ms. Clearwater?" Dumbledore said, completely ignoring Tom and Hermione.

"Last year we covered inanimate to inanimate transfigurations, as well as animate to inanimate transfigurations of invertebrates. We covered basic theories for why animate to inanimate transfigurations increase in difficulty depending on the complexity of the animate being in question—for example, transfiguring a beetle into a button is much easier than transfiguring a gerbil into a goblet—as well as how the similarity in mass of the objects contributes to the difficulty of the transfiguration." Honoria said, shooting a triumphant look over to the two Slytherins. Tom raised an eyebrow at her, and she ducked her head, blushing.

"Do you remember her being that annoying last year?" Hermione asked him quietly, as Dumbledore beamed and awarded ten points to Ravenclaw.

"No, but Cyrus told me that she's been getting tutoring over the summer from her older brother," Tom replied. "Maybe that's making her more competitive." Hermione nodded.

"Since when do you talk to Cyrus?" she asked curiously. Tom and Cyrus Greengrass had not gotten along since the boy had tried to flush Nagini down the toilet last year.

Tom shrugged. "He knows a lot of people. He shares information with me, and I permit his presence in the dormitory. It wasn't hard to… persuade him to see my point of view."

Hermione stared at him in shock. "What did you do?" She hissed, as Dumbledore instructed Leonora Blott to pass out large blue coloured beetles.

Tom looked surprised at her reaction. "Nothing permanent," he reassured, accepting a pair of blue beetles from Blott with an easy smile.

"Thanks, Leonora," Hermione said, snatching the beetle from Tom's hand.

"What did you do to him, Tom," she asked again. Tom looked at her, confused.

"I jinxed all his belongings to bite him whenever he came into the dormitory to retrieve them." _And I ensured that Pringle thought he was the one responsible for giving Peeves the password to the teacher's lounge_, he thought to himself, but wisely, kept his mouth shut.

Hermione sighed in relief. _He's only twelve,_ she chastised herself, _what did you think he'd be doing?_ _Cruiciating his room mates? Get a grip Hermione._

"Why, what did you think I'd done?" Tom said, echoing her thoughts, having transfigured his beetle into a large blue bottle.

"I don't know," she said, forcing a laugh, as she waved her wand and transfigured her own beetle. "Maybe dangled him off the Astronomy tower by his ankles or something," she joked weakly. Tom looked thoughtful.

"That's actually an intriguing possibility," he said. He caught Hermione's eye. "I wasn't being serious," he reassured her, smirking. Hermione nodded, half-smiling and transfigured her bottle into a bathtub, which Dumbledore could not ignore, and earned Slytherin five points.

"I cannot believe I wanted to come back to Hogwarts," Alphard said, face in his hands.

"Same," Lucas groaned. "Four feet on colour changing charms! _Four_!" Lucas said glumly.

"Don't forget the thee foot essay on animate to inanimate transfiguration with reptiles," Alphard added, letting out a huge sigh.

"That's seven feet of writing. _Seven feet of writing_! And we still have history, and Binns always gives us work on the first day. Bet we'll get at least two feet on Ichabod the Irritating or Orlando the Oddball or something similarly useless," Lucas complained.

Hermione patted him on the back sympathetically. "I'll help you if you want," she offered.

"Thanks 'Mione," Alphard said from across the table, as he spooned stew onto his plate. "You're a life saver."

"But," she said, looking around to make sure Tom was still deep in conversation with Abraxas Malfoy further down the table, "you have to promise to tell me if Cyrus starts acting weirdly. I've heard that one of the other Slytherins has issues with him, and I want to make sure he's not getting jinxed or hexed. Alright?"

The two boys nodded. "Anything for your help on the stupid charms essay," Alphard said emphatically. Lucas looked slightly suspicious, but said nothing.

After lunch was History of Magic with the Hufflepuffs and the Gryffindors. Upon entering the room, Tom immediately seized her and dragged her to a seat near the front.

"Tom, what are you doing?" Hermione said, allowing herself to be roughly guided to where Tom wanted to sit. "I promised Septimus that I'd sit with him in this class," she reminded him.

Tom scowled. "Technically, he left before you could agree to his request," he said sourly. Hermione looked at him, bewildered.

"Don't be silly Tom," she said, looking towards the back of the classroom where Septimus had just seated himself.

"I don't like it," Tom said suddenly. "I don't like that you're friends with him. You're supposed to be friends with _me_."

"Tom, I can be friends with both of you. Don't be silly. Look, there's a spot by Lucas. Go sit with him—you've sat with me all day." She said, before turning and heading towards where Drew and Augusta had seated themselves behind Septimus.

Annoyance flashed across Tom's face as he watched her go. She was supposed to be _his_ friend. He did not like to share. But then again, he mused, as he sat down with Lucas and took out his parchment to take notes with, she wasn't irreplaceable. He reassured himself that she was unimportant to him, and ignored the wave of irritation tinged with—was it jealousy?—that washed over him when he heard her laughing at something that idiot red head had said. He detested red heads. First Albus and now Weasley. They always seemed to get under his skin.

While Tom took careful notes during Professor Binns' lecture—Hermione had been unsurprised to learn that he was just as exciting alive as he had been as a ghost—Hermione was deeply involved in a game of Hippogriff or Harpy with the three Gryffindors. The rules of the game were simple. Each player described someone in the room with three sentences. The first sentence was a description of what they thought their person was doing, the second a description of the most memorable trait of the person, and the third a scenario with the predicted reaction of the player. Afterwards, they passed the parchments around, and tried to guess who the other players had written about. The person who guessed all three of the other players' people correctly was the Hippogriff entitled to create a 'punishment' for other three players, who were the Harpies.

"Done," Drew announced, passing his parchment to Augusta. Augusta passed her own to Hermione, who passed hers to Septimus who passed his to Drew.

Hermione looked down at her parchment.

1. Trying to assassinate everyone in the class by boring them to death.

2. Absolutely nothing. (Which I suppose is memorable in itself)

3. An ogre leaps out into the hallway, and X blinks at it, and begins to defeat the ogre with nothing but lecture notes, which is so effective that the ogre slumps to the ground, never to be awakened from his stupor.

_Binns_, she thought, scribbling the name down on another piece of parchment.

"Next," Septimus announced, and they rotated parchments again.

1. Desperately longing for the love of one Liam Lancaster of Ravenclaw.

2. The absolute blankness and lack of understanding in her eyes when anything except Liam Lancaster is discussed.

3. Upon receiving her History of Magic test, she realizes that she has not learned anything, and promptly begins to doodle pictures of Liam's head with little hearts flying around it.

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. She was fairly sure neither Lyla nor Georgia fancied third year Liam Lancaster. A Hufflepuff or Gryffindor then, she decided, looking over the class. _Oh! I bet I know this._

She scribbled another name down on her parchment.

"Next," she said, and the parchments rotated once again.

1. Is contemplating the best way to take over the world.

2. Somewhat extremely intelligent

3. Becomes Minister for Magic at the ripe old age of 18.

Hermione bit her lip. She flicked her gaze around the classroom, trying to figure out who Septimus was describing. Tom? She wondered, uncertainly.

"Is everyone done?" Augusta whispered. Hermione quickly scribbled Tom Riddle onto her parchment, and nodded.

"Okay, who was I writing about?" She asked, grinning.

"Binns," the other three answered, snickering. Augusta looked disappointed.

"You mentioned lecture notes," Drew said. "Dead give away. Who was I writing about?"

"Matilda Manderson," Septimus and Hermione replied.

Augusta looked put out. "I thought it was Delila Hargrove," she grumbled.

"Nope, sorry Augusta, looks like you're a Harpy!" Drew said cheerfully.

"Okay, what about mine?" Hermione asked.

"Easy," Drew said. "Lucas Rosier,"

"I got Quintus Mulciber," Septimus said, showing her his parchment.

Hermione nodded. "Sorry, Drew, you're out." Drew pouted.

"Hey that means I win!" Septimus exclaimed.

"Only if Hermione doesn't get yours," Augusta pointed out.

"Oh yeah. Okay then, Hermione, who'd you get?"

Hermione frowned, before saying uncertainly, "Tom Riddle?".

Septimus and Drew guffawed, and even Augusta giggled. "No, silly," Augusta said, "it's you!" Hermione banged her head on the desk in exasperation while Septimus and Drew chortled.

"The way I see it," Septimus said after he had stopped laughing, "I'm the Hippogriff. Therefore I get to set the punishment for you three ugly Harpies. Drew, you have to carry all my stuff for the rest of the day. Augusta, after class is over you have to go up into the boy's dormitory and hide this dungbomb in my brother's trunk while I distract him, and Hermione…" Septimus scratched his head, thinking. "You have to… speak in rhymes for the rest of the day." He decided. Hermione scowled. "That's not fair! That's so much worse than the other two!"

Septimus waggled his finger at her. "Now now, Hermione, you're a Harpy. You've got to do it. Starting now. Actually, I'll help you. _Rimerus_!" A jet of pale blue light hit Hermione.

"What was that you great big prat?" She asked, before her eyes widened in realization.

Scowling, Hermione pulled out more parchment from her bag and began working on Dumbledore's essay, and ignored the snickering Gryffindors for the rest of the class.

After History of Magic, she said goodbye to the other two Harpies (Farewell, is that the bell?) and the smirking Septimus Weasley, "Goodbye, I hope you die!" She'd said, glaring at the triumphant ginger, who'd chuckled and waved at her, before heading off with the others.

"Ready to head back to the common room and work on our essays a bit before dinner?" Alphard asked, coming up to her.

"Sound's fine, 'til nine?" Hermione responded.

"Er, that's rather late isn't it? It should only take a couple hours." Hermione nodded.

"Did I hear you say you were going to work on your essays?" Lucas said, coming up to them.

"Yeah, we're going to the common room now," Alphard said.

"We should go to the library- it's most primary." Hermione said. Both boys looked confused.

"Hermione, why are you talking so oddly all of a sudden?" Alphard asked, looking concerned.

"I lost a game, this is my shame," she replied in irritation. Alphard looked stunned for a moment, before laughing a very familiar, bark like laugh. Hermione found herself smiling despite herself.

"Alright then, Ms. Poet, let's go to the library." He said, smirking.

"Can't you undo it?" Lucas asked, as they headed towards the library.

"It is a matter of pride, I will not run and hide," Hermione explained.

Alphard snickered. "Hopefully you can write your essays properly. Oh I can see it now—"Colour changing charms belong on farms" an essay by Hermione Granger, who sleeps in a manger." Hermione shuddered.

Later at dinner, the other Slytherins were less than impressed with Hermione's temporary poetic tendencies.

"Honestly," scoffed Lyla. "You should've known better than to lose to a Gryffindor."

"Stop whining and continue dining," Hermione replied, grinning. Tom pointedly ignored Hermione, still upset with her, and engaged Lucas in a conversation about the new Supreme Mugwump that had been elected recently, and what that meant for the Wizengamot.

"Don't mind them," Alphard said, heaping mashed potatoes onto his plate. "I think it's a brilliant punishment." Hermione punched him in the arm indignantly, and he laughed again. "What? It is! It's hilarious and embarrassing. It seems that I'm going to have to get to know this Septimus Weasley a bit better," he said, smirking at her.

"Alphard Black, you make me hack," Hermione replied good naturedly.

"I think that'd be the pork chops," Alphard replied, eyes gleaming with mirth. Hermione threw her napkin at him.

When Septimus and Augusta strolled up at the end of dinner to check if Hermione was holding up her end of being the Harpy, she introduced them both to Alphard.

"This is Alphard Black, he hates to pack," she said, mouth quirking in a half smile.

Alphard sprang to his feet. "Are you the one who jinxed Hermione?" He demanded. Septimus nodded uncertainly, but Alphard beamed at him, sticking out his hand. "A pleasure to meet you! I think it's brilliant!"

Septimus, who had obviously been expecting the usual Black insanity, looked pleasantly surprised.

"Wow, Hermione, looks like you aren't the only decent Slytherin after all," he snarked, grinning as he shook Alphard's hand.

_What have I just unleashed onto the world?_ Hermione wondered wryly. But all she said was, "You house-ist prat, I'll stomp you flat."


	10. Chapter 10

**DISCLAIMER: Still not J.K Rowling... Fingers crossed though, cause being rich would be pretty cool.**

The next morning saw Hermione speaking normally once more, much to the relief of Lyla and Georgia who had thought it very improper for a young lady to sound so undignified, and the disappointment of Septimus and Alphard. Tom, however, maintained a stony silence all throughout breakfast, where he spoke mostly to Pollux Lestrange and Abraxas Malfoy, and their first class Herbology, where he worked with Alphard and Lucas. His absence left Hermione with Lyla and Georgia, who were very pleased with this, as neither one of them wanted to even go near the Restless Rhododendrons they were supposed to be re-potting.

"Really, Hermione, I don't know how you do it," Georgia remarked, watching her stuff the writhing plant into its pot."

"What?" Hermione snapped, wiping her face and leaving a long dirt mark on her forehead.

Lyla shuddered delicately. "All this dirt. Honestly, we've just got a house elf to maintain mother's garden, and none of this Restless Rhododendron nonsense, No we've got proper Flutterby bushes and Twining Tulips and such. What plants do you have in your garden, Hermione? You seem very experienced in re-potting and replanting."

Hermione sat back on her heels. "I don't keep a garden, Lyla. Could you pass me the dragon dung please?" She asked, subtly changing the subject. Lyla smirked slightly, and levitated the dragon dung fertilizer to Hermione. "I've noticed you never speak about your parents," she observed, leaning away as Hermione opened the bag of fertilizer and dumped some into a new pot. "Really?" Hermione replied indifferently. "Yes, we know little to nothing about you," Georgia responded, waving her hand in front of her nose to dispel the scent of dragon dung.

"Why the sudden interest then?" Hermione asked, as she wrenched another Restless Rhododendron out of a too-small pot.

Georgia shrugged elegantly. "We've roomed together for a year. We should at least know a little about your background, wouldn't you say?"

_More like mummy and daddy were curious about the half-blood who outscores the purebloods_, Hermione thought bitterly to herself.

"I suppose," Hermione hedged. "But there really isn't much to know. I'm very readable."

Lyla looked as if she would continue the conversation, but just then Darian Robbins from Ravenclaw tripped over a Venomous Tentacula tendril and upended a pot of fertilizer over her head. Hermione smiled.

After Herbology was Potions. Hermione and Tom always sat together for this class, and after the incident that had occurred the previous morning, Tom had no choice but to continue sitting with Hermione to keep up the image of a dutiful friend. This gave Hermione the opportunity to talk to him properly, as he'd been ignoring her since History of Magic the previous day. Sliding into the seat next to him, Hermione poked him in the side.

Tom tensed. "Tom, what's wrong?" she asked innocently. He scowled and looked away. She poked him again, twice, and he snorted. Hermione suppressed a laugh. Who could have known that Lord Voldemort was ticklish? She bared her teeth in a fearsome grin and leaned over, fingers wiggling. Tom scooted away from her, face still turned away. "Tom, why are you upset?" She asked, taking a leaf from his book and pouting dramatically. "T-Tom," she sniffled, hiding her face in her hands. She heard Tom exhale loudly, and smiled into her hands. A moment later, she felt Tom hesitantly patting her on the back.

"There there," he said, uncomfortably. Hermione lifted her face out of her hands, grinning. "Thanks, Tom," she said, smirking. Tom blinked, then scowled at her and pulled the gurdyroots towards him.

"You weren't really sad, were you?" he demanded, glaring at Hermione as he sliced the gurdyroots. She shrugged unapologetically. "You weren't speaking to me," she replied, mashing the newts eyes into a gooey pulp in her mortar. Tom rolled his eyes. "Well don't associate with that dolt Weasley then. I find him extremely distasteful." He stated matter-of-factly.

Hermione sighed as she added spider legs to the goopy mixture in her mortar. "Tom, you can't be my only friend you know. And you're fine with Alphard and Lucas and the others, I don't see why Septimus is any different."

Tom glared mutinously at her. "If you're just going to do the same thing again-"

"Let's not argue," Hermione said quickly, snatching the gurdyroot slices away from him and dumping them unceremoniously into the cauldron along with her disgusting mixture of animal body parts. "Grab the billywig stings, would you?"

After brewing what Slughorn declared to be an "exemplary burn salve", Hermione and Tom headed to the library.

"I think I'm going to try and learn a bit about warding," Hermione mused. "It seems awfully interesting, and they don't teach it at Hogwarts." Tom inclined his head thoughtfully. "I suppose. I think I saw a section on it—I'll show you." After making up, Tom and Hermione had easily slipped back into their first year routine.

However, no sooner had Hermione wandered into the stacks in the library, than she heard someone clearing their throat behind her. Filled with dread, she turned to face the black haired girl she knew as Death.

"What now," Hermione snapped irately. Death's lips twitched downwards. "I'm sorry," Death replied. "But it really was time for them to be moving on you know—" Hermione held up a hand to cut her off. "What is it you want now, Death?" she said sharply. Death sighed, leaning against the bookshelf. "Well, I was going to tell you the day you got to Hogwarts but, er, as you know…things happened. But anyway, it's official—today's the day Britain and France officially declare war on Germany. I just thought you might like to know. Heads up, y'know. Especially now that I know you don't like surprises like that."

Hermione nodded stiffly. "Thank you. Is that all?"

Death pouted. "Don't be like that! Come on, what do I have to do to make you not hate me? Turn into a pink flying unicorn? I'll do it, if you want."

"Hermione?" Tom called, rounding the corner. "I thought I heard you talking to someone," He said, his slight Irish accent a sharp contrast to Death's indescribable voice.

Hermione shook her head. "Nope, just looking for books," she said, pasting on a fake smile and turning towards the bookshelf once more, sensing Death fading away behind her.

She ran her fingers over the titles, A Compendium of Modern Day Wizarding Families, Pureblood Genealogy… She felt Tom's gaze burning into her.

"Do you ever wonder about… you know," Tom said, softer than usual, nodding at the books on the shelf.

"Hmm?" Hermione replied, locating "A General Guide to Family Wards" and pulling it off the shelf.

Tom looked frustrated. "Don't you want to know which one of your parents was magical?" He asked in disbelief.

Hermione shrugged. "Not particularly. I don't have anywhere to start, really. I was just left on the doorstep one day in December with my name pinned onto my blankets. It's not like knowing would change anything anyway."

Tom's intense gaze shuttered, and he looked at his feet. Hermione knew that this was not the answer he had been hoping for.

"You've been looking, haven't you?" She asked, gazing at him intently. Tom nodded, lip curled. "I know it can't have been my mother—she died so she can't possibly be magic, but then it has to be my father, and I've looked in every compendium I can find, and all the school records but he's not there and everyone says that Riddle isn't a pureblood name, but I know I can find it, the answer is here somewhere," he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a stream of frustration and anxiety as he indicated the books on the shelves, running a hand through his hair in frustration, tousling the jet black locks that reminded Hermione so much of another orphan boy she had once known, with killing curse eyes and a lightning bolt scar.

"Having magic doesn't make us immortal," Hermione said quietly, remembering the Last Battle—Ginny on the floor, Ron not moving. Her breaths came quicker now, and she gripped the bookshelf tightly for support.

"Hermione?" Tom asked, moving forward, tilting his head curiously. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," she choked out, as she stared into the face of the young Lord Voldemort. _He's not him. Not yet._ She reminded herself. Nevertheless, she pushed herself away from him and scurried out of the library. It had been a long time since she'd had one of her flashbacks, she reflected, as she hurried down a corridor. But they always reminded her that the boy she knew and had befriended had a spark of darkness in him that was waiting to be nurtured into the evil that had devoured her world.

She sighed, and settled down next to a window to read her book. She would return for her school things later, and apologize to Tom for rushing out like that.

Tom accepted her apology with a bland expression that even Hermione couldn't read. Mentally shrugging to herself, she packed up her things and began heading to the Great Hall for dinner—alone as Tom had told her he would go to the common room to pick up his astronomy things for their after dinner class- when she was accosted by a familiar black haired blur.

"There you are, 'Mione," Alphard said, grinning down at her. "Where've you been? Oh, never mind," He said, catching a glimpse of the multiple warding related books Hermione had stuffed in her bag. "Library. Of course. So anyway, Quidditch tryouts are in three days, and I was thinking of trying out for Beater. You will come down and watch won't you?" He pleaded, widening his pale grey eyes and staring at her beseechingly.

Hermione laughed. "Oh, can I talk now?" she asked, prodding him in the shoulder. Alphard pouted. "Of course I'll come watch," Hermione assured him.

"If it isn't the filthy Granger girl and her blood traitor boyfriend," a sneering voice said from their right. Hermione and Alphard turned to see Nestor, Darin and Lyndon emerging from behind a tapestry.

"What do you want?" Alphard asked shortly, glaring at the three older students.

"Payback, of course." Darin said, glaring at Hermione. "You've made an enemy of the Mulcibers, Granger," he spat derisively. Hermione snorted.

"Big deal," she said scathingly. "It's not like any of you has any more magical talent or intelligence than a troll anyway." Alphard snickered, and Mulciber pointed his wand at her, eyes dark with anger.

"Oi, break it up," Quintus Weasley yelled as he passed by on his way to the Great Hall, his prefect badge glinting in the light from the torches.

"Shut it, Weasley," Nestor snarled, even as Lyndon reached out to shove Darin Mulciber's wand arm down.

"I'd watch your back, Granger," Lyndon said, leaning casually against the wall, hands in his pockets, eyes narrowed. "You might be good, but one day we'll be better, and then," he said, sauntering towards her, "when you've got everything to lose, we will destroy you."

"Painfully," spat Mulciber, shoving his wand back into his pocket.

"Please," Hermione said scornfully. "Your threats don't scare me a bit. The next time any one of you raises a wand against me or one of my friends, you'll find that you wont have a wand for very much longer." Seizing Alphard's arm, she dragged him towards the Great Hall, leaving the three Slytherins behind, ignoring the rude hand gesture Alphard made at them.

"Inbred ogres," Hermione grumbled, as they walked toward their table. Alphard sputtered in mock outrage.

"Watch who you call an inbred ogre, you old toad," he cried. "We ogres take offence very easily! For that you will let me copy your History of Magic essay, otherwise, I will never forgive you."

"What, too stupid to do it yourself, Black?" Hermione teased, as they passed the end of the Ravenclaw table.

"More like stunned by the fact that an imbecile like you can string enough words together to come up with that sentence," Alphard joked back. She punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"Idiot," she said, reaching over to mess up his hair. He scowled and patted it carefully. "Hands off the hair," he said grumpily, as they took their seats at the Slytherin table.

"How'd you get here before us?" Hermione asked, staring at Tom, shocked. Tom raised a single eyebrow elegantly.

"By not dawdling," he replied. Georgia giggled. Hermione looked at him disbelievingly, before shaking her head.

"Whatever you say," she replied, serving herself some chicken. Lyla sighed deeply from her position next to Tom.

"Honestly Hermione, you can't possibly want to eat all of that?" she said, staring disbelievingly down at Hermione's plate, which now was heaped with salad, two drumsticks and a baked potato. Hermione went pink. "I'm hungry!" she defended.

"A proper lady does not pile plate on her food like that," Lyla sniffed. "Well then it's a good thing I'm not a proper lady then," Hermione replied, cutting open her baked potato. "You're going to fail Household and Etiquette," Lyla said warningly.

Hermione stared at her blankly. "What's that?" she asked, confused. Lyla smirked. "Of course, I forgot, you don't know very much about being a proper witch, do you? Household Charms and Etiquette is taught to female students in Hogwarts in third year. Just like Care of Magical Creatures. And from what it looks like now, you're going to fail it."

Hermione blinked. "Household Charms and Etiquette? What a useless sounding class. I'm certainly not going to take it."

Lyla's brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "If you say so," she replied, shrugging elegantly and turning to engage Cassiopeia Black and Lucretia in conversation regarding the recent trend towards robes with wider sleeves.

**A/N: As always, thanks to rpeh for betaing! R&R! :)**


End file.
